Know When to Hold 'Em
by cakeisnotpie
Summary: Bruce, Clint, Steven, and Tony head to Las Vegas for some much needed R & R. Tony votes for debauchery, Steve wants Cirque du Soliel, Clint's up for strip poker by the pool, and Bruce just wants his turn.
1. Luck Be A Lady Tonight

"Good Lord, Tony, you think this place big enough?" Clint walked to the wall of glass and slid open one of the balcony's massive doors. The glistening blue water of the pool stretched before him, appearing to fall off the end of the building and out into the Las Vegas skyline. Behind him, Tony wandered over to the fully stocked bar to pour himself a drink.

"There's a pool table!" Steve said from down the hallway. Bruce was checking out the kitchen of the two-story villa. Luxury wasn't the word for the space; from the private plunge pool to the T.V. the size of a movie screen to the game room, the suite was extravagance to a tee.

"Sir, if I may." The young man wore a simple black suit, crisp white shirt, and neat black tie. He couldn't have been over thirty, Clint thought, but he held his body stiff and spoke with a proper British accent.

"Yes, Alfred?" Tony absently asked, busy watching Steve play with the various light switches on the wall – windows darkened, mood lighting dimmed, and music began to play.

"My name is Robert, sir." The butler corrected.

"Right, Alfred." Tony grinned at the flustered man.

Robert sighed ever so slightly. "I took the liberty of putting Dr. Banner and Mr. Barton's things in the Master Suite; it has a large balcony and tall ceilings … the glass wall slides completely open for indoor/outdoor living. Your things are in Sunrise room and Mr. Rogers is in the Sunset room. I have also stocked the pantry with the requested items as well as some other local delicacies."

"Nehi?" Steve had cracked open the refrigerator and pulled a glass bottle out of the door. "I didn't know they even made this anymore."

"There's both orange and grape," Robert said. "If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask. I can arrange tickets for shows, reservations for dinner, private gaming … just dial 3 on the phone at any time." He turned and left through the main double doors.

"When are you leaving for today's meeting?" Clint entered the kitchen and rummaged, pulling out a bottle of Chinese beer and a package of Cheetos. "Cause Steve and I have things to do, don't we?" The statement seemed to surprise Steve, who shook his head at Bruce's questioning look.

"Remind me why I brought all of you again?" Tony sank into the large couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. "Bruce is here to talk science, but I'm fuzzy on how this ended up a foursome."

"The meeting starts at 1:00 p.m." Bruce offered, munching on macadamia nuts. "Clint's here because I wanted him to come, and Steve's here to keep Clint company while we're gone during the day."

"Oh, right, we needed a babysitter for the Hawk. He can't seem to stay out of trouble."

"I think that's you, Stark." Steve said as he drank his soda. "Pepper said to make sure you got to the office on time. Even if we have to carry you."

"Would you? Carry me?" Tony batted his eyes at Steve, and then laughed. "Look, it's Vegas! Some debauchery is mandatory. Since you can't get drunk, we'll have to go with gambling and a massive, wild party. Screw meetings. I'm here to have some fun."

"Tony," Steve began, but then he sat the empty bottle on the counter and sighed. "Whatever. I'm not your mother. Do what you want. But I have plans for tonight, so I … we," he nodded to Clint "… are in charge for our evening entertainment."

"That's right," Clint added as he bounded up the circular staircase two at a time. "Orgies are us. A little strip poker by the pool to start, then showgirls along with massive amounts of alcohol for me ought to do it." Opening the doors at the head of the stairs, Clint paused. "Holy shit, Bruce. You should see this. The bed is round with mirrors on the ceiling." His voice floated down as he entered the room. "It fucking rotates!"

Tony smirked at Bruce, who only shrugged in response as he started up the stairs.

"This is a good thing, Tony." Steve sat down next to him on the couch. "We need this after everything we've been through."

Tony sighed. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXx

Clint stood on the balcony, studying the skyline, as Bruce stepped out of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

"See the good vantage points? There," Clint nodded to an outcropping higher up, "there," the building across the road, "and there," the balcony of a lower suite. "Easy targeting with all the glass. I did see a privacy screen, but we know how effect those can be."

"We'll be fine." Bruce told him. "Security swept the area. Tony brought his suit, Steve is downstairs, and I know I saw your bow case go into the luggage compartment of the plane. Relax."

Clint frowned for another moment before a smile slid across his face. "Did you see the infinity edge bathtub for two and the big screen TV?_ Firefly_ marathon, some fine sipping whiskey, and something spicy to eat. We could just never leave the room, you know." Clint wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Tony can handle those scientists on his own, and we could play."

"This could help find a cure for Phil and Carol, and you know that." Bruce caught Clint's belt loops with his fingers and tugged the man over. "There will be plenty of time to try out that tub and the rotating bed." Clint went easily, hips bumping as he wrapped his arms around Bruce's waist.

"We could take a spin right now," he offered, dropping a kiss on Bruce's neck. "You spin me right round, baby, right round, like a record, baby … open up your loving arms, look out here I come," he sang as Bruce gave an indulgent smile.

"Excuse me, but it was you who started the whole 'let's have sex on the plane' idea. I think it's my turn to pick the kink for the evening."

"Hey, joining the mile high club was on my bucket list! And the bathroom in Tony's jet was MUCH bigger than the ones on commercial flights. Not quite sure how the logistics would work in those tiny ones." Clint's eyes sparkled at the memory of bruised elbows and shins, hushed groans stilled by each other's mouth, and the all-to-knowing look on Tony's face afterwards despite their best efforts to be stealthy. "Admit it, you liked it."

"Never said I didn't, just that it's my turn next. Now, I need to go roust Tony and get moving. There's a luncheon with the director of R & D and the company CEO at noon, and I want to see just how far they've gotten with their genome parsing project." He started to pull away, but Clint held on, long enough for one very heated kiss, before he let Bruce go.

"Don't get so lost in your science that you forget to come back, doc. I'll be here, ready for whatever you have in mind. I'm starting to like being a kept man."

Bruce paused. "Now there's an idea. I think I remembered to pack some handcuffs. I'll just leave you here, naked and waiting, cuffed to the bed. I might even be nice and give you the remote. I certainly would remember to come home to that."

"Damn, Bruce." Clint laughed, his voice going husky at the thought. "Might be a little awkward when Steve wanted to go to lunch, though. Next time, just you and me in Vegas, okay?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"If Pepper ordered the lunch, it might be okay, but if it's broiled chicken, I'm going to be pissed." Tony was still arguing as Bruce tried to corral him towards the exit, waving his half full glass of whiskey; the car was downstairs waiting, and Robert held the door open.

"Just take the glass and let's go," Bruce sighed, but Tony's grin made it clear he was having fun at the expense of Bruce's punctuality.

"If you desire a different lunch, Mr. Stark, please let me know. I can have any number of the finest restaurants in Vegas deliver something to you on short notice," Robert offered, helpfully.

"Send over some waygu burgers from Bachi Burger. And an order of pork belly steamed buns." Tony glanced at Bruce. "Make that for both of us. Oh, and truffle parmesan fries."

"Of course, sir. I'll have the food there in time for the start of the meeting." Robert nodded, completely unfazed by the request.

"Good. That's good." Tony finally started for the elevator. "And Alfred," he called back, "make sure those two don't get into any trouble while the adults are gone, okay?"

"That should be a fun luncheon," Steve noted as Robert let the door swing shut behind the two men. "Speaking of lunch, I could go for a good burger. How about you, Clint?"

"If I may, the Burger Bar isn't very far. The milkshakes there are also excellent. May I call ahead and have a table waiting for you?" Robert offered.

"Milkshakes are good. Let's do it," Clint nodded, and Robert left to take care of their requests. "Like a life-size breathing version of Jarvis, don't you think?"

"I don't think I'll ever get used to Tony's world," Steve said as he slid his wallet into his pants pocket. "Very different than growing up in Brooklyn."

"True, but, hey, opposites attract right?" Clint led the way to the door. "How do you feel about making Tony jealous? Round up some party guests, you can flirt like hell with someone while I get Tony drunk."

"If you haven't figured it out, I'm not good at flirting, so I think that plan's out."

"Right, okay. Then it's strip poker by the pool. How's your five card stud?"

_Parabolic mikes picked up most of the conversation as the sound waves bounced off of the glass. Computers digitally recorded it all, sending sporadic notifications to an IP address, searching for key words and phrases to index. With long telephoto lens, cameras trained on the various windows clicked at established intervals, pictures filing into the hard drive, frame by frame. A program ran, worming its way into the hotel database, collecting every byte of data about the occupants of the room. As the elevator descended to the main floor, feeds from security cameras tracked their movement across the gaming floor, images of license plate of the taxi and the limo cross-referencing with traffic cameras as they made their way through the congested streets to their destinations._


	2. The Man in the Back Said Everyone Attack

"What is that all about?"

The black town car pulled into the circular drive of Fabersham Metronics; armed security men in black parted the crowd of protesters to let them through, and Tony peered over the edge of his dark glasses at the sea of people. One sign banged against the window as a slow mover nearly got clipped by the side mirrors.

"Probably the rumors," Bruce said, "about stem cell research here. The story that they've made some breakthrough was all over _Investor's Daily_ just last week. Nothing gets passions riled up faster than the stem cell issue."

Tony sank down in his seat, trying to ignore the faces in the tinted glass. He fucking hated this kind of screaming anger, venting through a public display. Well, actually he did sort of understand it, but he tended to go for the individual meltdown, sarcasm instead of screams. He certainly enjoyed making an ass out of himself, but streaming vitriol at every car that passed seemed useless. If there was an award for being a complete embarrassment to those around him, Tony knew he'd win the thing hands down. It was an art form, a screen to hide behind. A glass of whiskey and his own unfettered mouth was much more effective at destroying his credibility than a hundred protesters could ever be.

"But it's adult stem cells. Idiots." Tony let the whiskey sit on his tongue for a moment before it burned its way down his throat, reminding him that he was alive and could actually feel. So much time wasted in deadly dull meetings like these, when his mind jumped ahead to the answers in moments, and he had to wait for others to catch up. Being so far ahead that he was alone; at least it used to be that way. Now there was Bruce, who was usually right behind him, unless he was a green rage monster, and damn, Tony could appreciate a really good temper tantrum now and again. He didn't like to admit it, but Clint was no slouch when it came to figuring out how things worked. His answers might be simplistic … it's a door so it opens both ways … but he got where he needed to be as fast as some of his arrows could fly. And Steve, stuck in the 1940s, thinking rotary dial phones were the height of technology. Steve who could jump into any situation and take control before Tony even thought of what to say, barking out orders, seeing the big picture and exactly what to do to solve the problem.

Tony realized he'd drifted away again, a common occurrence when left to his own mind. Bruce would just let Tony think, comfortable as the silence spun out; they worked that way in the lab, hours passing without a word from Bruce, Tony talking to himself or the plans or the tools or the robots. He wondered if that was why Bruce and Clint worked so well together; Bruce waited out Clint, calmly wearing down any resistance; the Hulk loved the Hawk's sense of humor and complete fearlessness. Plus, Clint had a well of stillness that would appeal to Bruce, that damn Zen thing he did when shooting, and damn if Tony understood exactly how those two were doing it, in spite of all the insanity around.

Happy opened the door, and he got out of the car, carrying his glass, waving at the crowd just beyond the gates, getting an irate roar in return. The glass doors slid open, opaque against the hot Nevada sun; he strolled in behind Bruce, eyes immediately drawn to the woman waiting in the air conditioned atrium. Model slim in a smart pink suit - short skirt, form-fitting jacket, five inch fuck-me pumps – her blonde hair hung loose, slightly messy like she just rolled out of bed. He ignored the man in the suit and sauntered up to her.

"Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner," she welcomed them, reaching her hand to each of them, holding palm to palm just a second too long; her eyes were a startling green as she sized both of them up. "Welcome to FabMet. I'm Amanda, head of Public Relations. May I say that I'm thrilled to have you both here? Dr. Banner, your work is just … breathtaking … in its implications. And Mr. Stark, well, it's been a fantasy of mine just to meet you." Her tone made it clear that _meeting _Tony wasn't what she fantasized about. Truth was, she was exactly the type of woman Tony would normally find appealing; willing, able, and not long term relationship material. But lately the very idea of another meaningless sexcapade did nothing for him; after he and Pepper decided they were better off friends he'd thought he'd just go back to bed hopping, never staying one place for long. Then Bruce started this thing with Clint – not like they were all sappy or anything, just the opposite in fact, raising the temperature in any room they happened to be in - and Tony was damn well not going to spend time thinking about how Steve's little revelation about his sexuality might be affecting him.

"Glad I could be here then," Tony replied, the playboy mask firmly in place. "Lovely women and fantasies are my specialty."

"Mr. Stark," the man in the pin-stripe suit cut in, "I'm Robert Fabersham, CEO. Can we move on into lunch? Your food has arrived." He didn't sound too thrilled about that, Tony noted; the reaction was just what Tony wanted – put the man on defense before they even started negotiations, make him not take Tony seriously. "I'm anxious to show you what my family has built here …"

The sound of bullets is often described with words like sharp and crack, but the reality of a long range sniper rifle is a quiet thump that barely registers until someone starts screaming and blood flows. Fabersham jolted back a step, surprise on his face, hand flying to his chest; his dark suit hid the red until it soaked the white shirt, turning crisp starched cotton into a wet, limp mess. Crumpling to the floor, his mouth opened, but the only word that came out was "What?" Bruce caught his arm and pushed Tony down to the floor, throwing himself on top. Amanda was screaming, and men came running, chaos reigning for a few heartbeats.

"You okay?" Bruce asked when it became evident that no more shots were coming.

"You're damn heavy, you know? How the hell does Clint bottom?" Tony groused, and then smirked when he saw Bruce's incredulous face. "What?"

Two men were crowded around Fabersham, hands working, pulling off his coat and applying pressure. The CEO was talking, cussing a mile a minute and shouting orders. The blonde sat on the floor, blood on her shoes.

"Ah, hell," Tony complained. "This means we'll miss lunch."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Good god, look at that." Clint turned the monster sized glass around, admiring the chocolate that swirled down the length. "The Big Guy would only need 3 or 4 to fill up."

Steve looked at his own salted caramel milkshake. Tony had said things were bigger in Vegas, but this was ridiculous. "You're going to finish it anyway, right?"

"Going to make a dent in it, anyway. Alcohol AND a milkshake together? What's not to like in a French Kiss?" he grinned, taking a long drink through the extra-large straw. "Alright, time to get to work. Hit me with your best line, soldier. Let's hear it."

"What?" Steve blinked, confused by Clint's request.

"Flirting 101. See a cute guy. Want to get to know him better. Got to start somewhere."

He really didn't know much about flirting at all; he'd always thought a real relationship was out of his reach before the serum, and, given his track record of even talking to women, it had been. Then, after, there wasn't time for romance, just a headlong rush of battle – planning, attacks, counting the dead and wounded. Needs were taken care of in the darkness of a tent, somewhere away from prying eyes, fast, without words. No time to make plans, unable to make a commitment beyond sunrise tomorrow. What little he did know came from his time with the girls working the show; almost all of them had made a play for him, making it a game to see who could get him first, then tapering off when it became evident he wasn't really interested in any of them.

"Umm … I don't really know. Never tried before. Only ever had one real date in my life, and I ended up piloting a plane into the ocean instead."

"Oh. Okay, then. Let's come at this from a different direction. There's a H.Y.D.R.A. stronghold behind enemy lines and you need to infiltrate it. Where do you start?"

"What does that have to do with flirting?" Steve asked.

"Trust me. It's similar. You have to think of it as planning an assault. Works like a charm." Clint was halfway through his milkshake already, and Steve realized he was matching Clint's pace.

"Alright, well, first, gather intel. Where is it, fortifications, lay of the land. Then find a way in – the chink in the armor if you will. Plan, get everything ready, leave nothing to chance." This was easy for him, thinking in terms he knew well.

"Right! So, identify the person you want to get to know better. Figure out the lay of the land … what they're like, their hang ups, things that appeal to them. Then find the way in, the chink." Clint was grinning. "You, for example, would need a slow burn, not a frontal assault. Take time to understand you, the world you come from. I'd go with a ball game or an art museum, things that haven't changed all that much, and work up to more modern things like a concert or the new James Bond film."

"Are you flirting with me Clint?" Steve laughed, mostly because Clint had hit the nail on the head. He'd love to do any of those things with a date.

"Sorry, dude, not that you don't have a nice abs and all, but blondes aren't my thing." The waitress crossed over to their table, tray heavy with monster size burgers and mountains of fries. She'd been flirting with them from the start, eyeing the two handsome men.

"Here you go. One American Classic for you, "she sat the plate down in front of Steve, "with skinny fries. And a Black Jack Burger with sweet potato fries for you. Let me know if you need anything else."

"I might not eat dinner at this rate," Clint said, but he dived in anyway, cutting the burger in half to get a grip on it. "Anyway, point is, knowing your enemy works for dating as well. Know thy potential lover." He sank his teeth into the messy sandwich, closed his eyes and sighed.

"And the chink in my armor?" Steve wanted to hear Clint's answer; the man's insights were as sharp as his targeting skills.

"You sure you want to hear it?" Clint was suddenly serious, leaning in over the table.

Steve thought about it for a few seconds as he ate a handful of fries and then nodded. "Yes. I do."

"Despite super strength and everything, you still think like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn, wanting to save the world but afraid you're not up to it. You're not an old man, Cap. Sometimes people forget that, think you don't cuss or have urges," he wiggled his eyebrows at that," and they're wrong. You need someone to tell you that on occasion."

"Well, damn. Can that count as my psych eval for the month?" Steve laughed. "Faster and more effective than an hour of being asked how I feel."

"Don't you wish. You know that's why you and Tony are circling each other, right? He challenges you, and you don't put up with his shit. That's what he needs, someone who can understand his insecurities and doesn't cower at the feet of the great Tony Stark. Plus, it helps that you can kick his ass on a regular basis. Or do something else to his ass, depending on the mood."

"Hey!" A group of men had entered the restaurant and were shouting to the waitress. "We need a table. Bob's hungry!" Red cheeks and noses weren't the only sign that they'd been drinking; clothing was askew, one guy had even lost his shirt entirely, and there wasn't a matching pair of shoes in the bunch. They weren't threatening, just loud and obnoxious.

"My money's on a stag party with an early start," Clint said, shrugging. The city did, after all, boast any number of wedding chapels. The men wound through the crowd of tables, following the waitress; one of them swayed, lost his footing and fell into the lunches of what looked like a couple of business men in suits.

"Sorry, man," the drunk mumbled, but the man in a pin-striped suit was already screaming at him, brushing at his now wet lapels. The situation escalated quickly; two of the drunks came to help their friend, pushing other diners out of the way. Like a ripple, confusion spread as some people got up to get out of the way as the shoving started, school yard trash talk being slung around. The business man slammed into the table next to Steve & Clint's, stumbling back up, annoying the athletic man eating with a lovely red head. He caught the business man's sleeve and growled.

"Hey, everyone calm down," Steve stood and started to wade into the middle of it, trying to soothe tempers. "It was just an accident …."

The business man threw the first punch, aiming for the athlete, but Steve's shoulder got in the way, and suddenly it was a free-for-all. A drunk came tumbling into Clint, knocking over their food, spilling chocolate milkshake down the front of Clint's shirt. Grabbing the offender up by the scruff of his neck, Clint dragged him out of the fray, catching a flailing fist or two, and left him by the bar with a stern command to "Sit!" Steve got sucked into the center of the storm, trying desperately not to hurt anyone, opting for catching blows before they could connect, until he took a hard right cross, landing on his ass on a nearby table.

"Having fun yet?" Clint asked, trying to rub the sticky syrup off his arms with a napkin.

"It's not a bar room, but, hey, a brawl's a brawl." Steve laughed just as the police arrived.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Clint shook his head at the scene. Leave it to Tony to turn a police interview into a party. The break room was brimming with Settebello pizzas and cops with full plates. Tony was chatting up the police commissioner like an old friend, which he probably was, considering how often Tony came to Vegas. With the prognosis looking good for Fabersham, the investigation into the shooting was now centering on the protesters, not competitors and potential investors like Tony.

"What happened to you?" Bruce asked as he came up, looking at Clint's shirt and bloody lip, and Steve's black eye. He wiped the blood away from Clint's face with his thumb.

"Got caught in a brawl at Burger Bar, if you can believe it," Clint answered. "This is my drink, which is too bad because it was a damn fine milkshake."

Tony strolled over, cocked his head, and eyed Steve's face. "There's hope for you yet. In Vegas less than an hour, in a fight, and under arrest!"

Steve started to deny it, but then saw Clint's wink and changed his mind. "Always liked those barroom fights in westerns. Can check that off of the bucket list. Nobody got hit on the head with a bottle, though."

"Okay, Captain Sassy pants, no more hanging with the Hawk for you. You're picking up his mouthy habits." Tony snarked back, smile widening, enjoying the verbal sparring.

"Hey, Bruce likes my smart mouth," Clint protested.

"Don't worry, Tony, Clint doesn't like blondes, so I'm safe from his mouth" Steve replied, picking up a piece of the deep, gooey pizza. "Besides, I'm more of an ass man, myself."

"Damn," Tony said as Steve walked away to speak to a group of cops. "What the hell have you two been up to, Clint?"

_Smoothing out the wrinkles in his stained pin-striped suit, the business man stepped to the side of the busy street to make a phone call, tilting his head down to his shoulder to hold the cell phone in place as he tried to find a quiet place to stop. Fingers tapped impatiently as he waited for the fifth ring and the distorted voice that answered._

"_Next time," he whispered into the cell, "you better tell me everything. I can't be expected to do a job with half-assed information." He paused. "No, you listen to me. Captain freakin' America and another Avenger? You should have told us." More waiting. "Well the fee's doubled. I don't care what you wanted. You got the best we could do." He touched the screen, closing down the connection, angry at the whole mess. He was a professional, damn it, and he hated failing at a job. _


	3. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

"Hit me." Clint tapped the cards in front of him. A full whiskey sour sat at his left hand, a tidy pile of chips at his right. Around him flowed the sounds of the casino floor; the roulette wheel spun nearby, Tony's entourage of onlookers were chatting and reacting to every throw of the dice, and slots spun as tokens dropped, occasional tinkling as payouts filled cups. The dealer flipped another card up and slid it to Clint. The whiskey burned a little as he sipped it, the card felt slick beneath the pads of his fingers, and Clint was damn well enjoying getting buzzed, letting his inhibitions switch off for a bit

"Nineteen showing," the dealer announced.

"Oh, that's not good, right?" The blonde leaning over his right shoulder spoke, breathy and high-pitched, voice perfectly matched to her sexy body. Most of that body wasn't real – couldn't be, Clint knew, if gravity still worked – and she'd dressed to show off the unnaturally slim hips and generous breasts in a simple black, surprisingly understated but short, dress. Her height put said breasts at eye level, right between Clint and Steve. He actually felt a little sorry for her; she certainly had picked the wrong group of high rollers to try her luck with. The young male dealer had more chance of success than she did.

"Well, miss," Steve answered, ever the gentleman even when he didn't want to be. "It really all just depends on what his hold card is."

Her hand moved to rest on Clint's shoulder, fingers lightly caressing; he ignored her, paying attention to the game instead. Next up was a Middle Eastern man with sixteen showing; Clint had nailed his tell quickly, a twitch of the corner of his mouth. As the man called for a card, Clint knew he'd already lost the hand by the quick, almost imperceptible flinch before he flipped his cards over, busted. The dealer turned to the older woman on the other side of Steve. Now she was a hard read, face filled with so much emotion, every thought flitting across, that it was almost impossible to tell exactly what reaction was for any specific moment. She held at fourteen.

The blonde's hand trailed down his shoulder, tracing the edge of his t-shirt sleeve, and then stroking his bicep muscle; Clint moved away from her questing hand and noticed she was fondling Steve as well. He almost laughed – double dipping indeed – but he ducked his head and watched the Queen of Spades that joined Steve's deuce and six. He was quickly discovering that Steve had a damn good poker face - Clint was already spinning some plans for a round of poker later - so it came as a surprise when Steve busted as well.

"Call," the dealer said, and the woman turned her card over to reveal a five of diamonds. With a smile, Clint showed his hold card, a deuce of spades. "Black Jack!" The dealer slid his winnings to him, and Clint shook his head no to another round. A hand went to the small of his back this time, massaging and dipping behind the waistband of his jeans, and as he turned, a very female body pressed up against him, breasts spilling out of the scoop neck. Lips covered his, slick lip gloss that tasted of petroleum jelly and fake cherry flavoring, and she slipped her tongue across his lower lip, getting into it with her whole body.

"Whoa, whoa," Clint pushed her away. "Much as I appreciate the sentiment, I'm going to have to say no."

She pouted, her lips pursing. "Oh, don't worry about your friend. We can call it a party!" She pivoted and kissed Steve, just standing up to leave the table, a full-on, body grinding type of kiss that was way too public a display for the casino floor. "I don't mind," she purred as Steve gave Clint a panicked expression over her shoulder and made Clint think about snapping a quick pic with his phone for blackmail purposes. But he didn't, not after his own recent experience.

"You don't understand." Clint literally peeled her away from Steve and set her aside. "We're partners." Laying his hand on Steve's shoulder, he leaned over and gave Steve a chaste kiss, quick brush of lips that covered the man's startled look. "Sorry, but we're just not interested."

"Oh. Oh. Well, I mean, if you change your mind?" She seemed completely confused for a second, her bowlike mouth turning down at the corners, but then her attention was drawn by a cheer from the roulette table; Tony was at the center of the hubbub, and her eyes fell on the millionaire. "Later!" She tottered off, the alcohol she'd consumed making her unsteady on her heels.

"I see there are still women who like a winner," Steve said, watching her go.

"Someone ought to warn Tony … you might make it through the gauntlet." Clint suggested. Steve shook his head, but moved towards the crowd anyway.

"Having fun?" A hand circled Clint's elbow as he got off the stool, pulling him back. Bruce tugged Clint in the opposite direction, off the main floor and down a hallway.

"What's up, doc?" Clint laughed at his own joke, a little drunk and feeling no pain at the moment, willing to go with the flow. "Did you see that blonde? Serious plastic going on there."

"Did you enjoy it?" Opening a door, Bruce shoved Clint in first then slammed it shut behind them, turning the lock.

"Bruce?"Cloudy as his brain was, it dawned on Clint that Bruce was angry: tense shoulders, tight jaw, fingers clasped hard on his arm.

The room was a small utility closet with shelves of cleaning supplies, mop buckets, and a small desk with a computer terminal. Without speaking, Bruce backed Clint up against the desk, hands burrowing into his hair, tilting his head, and bringing his mouth to Clint's. It wasn't really a kiss so much as a claiming, tongue plundering as his body pressed into Clint's, bending him backwards while Bruce continued the assault. Clint didn't so much decide what to do as he let his own emotions take over; he hooked his fingers through Bruce's belt loops and sat on the edge of the desk, tugging Bruce firmly between his legs. Buzz combined with lust to make Clint's cock hard and aching in just a few moments; when Bruce jerked the belt on Clint's jeans, Clint helped him, rising up enough to yank his pants and underwear down, returning the favor by unbuttoning Bruce's chinos. With a growl, Bruce grabbed Clint's hands, crossing the wrists and holding them tight with his left hand.

"No," Bruce's voice was low and hard; his right hand cupped Clint's balls and slid up his cock, circling the sensitive head.

"Ah, hell," Clint groaned at the feel of the touch, not gentle by any means, and surged his hips up. Letting go of Clint's hands, Bruce pulled a small tube from his pocket and lubed up his hands; he pulled him to the very edge, and then circled the aching cock with one hand while his other fingers brushed over then pushed passed Clint's tight muscle. "God, Bruce." Clint's head fell back, and he leaned onto his hands as Bruce set a punishing pace of pull and slide with hand and fingers.

"Did you enjoy it?"

The question almost didn't register with Clint, so far gone into his body and the rising tension that coiled in his gut, but it finally sunk in what Bruce was asking when Clint saw his eyes, hard and angry, the slightest tinge of green flickering. "God, no, doc. She was plastic from head to toe, a groupie looking for a winner to pay her way for a day or two. Why the hell would you think I'd want that?"

Bruce added a second finger and twisted, finding the right spot that made Clint jump and moan. "Not her." He pushed harder, and Clint bit out a curse as he felt his climax getting ready to break.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he was starting to get angry himself that Bruce would think he was cheating on him with a stranger, some woman he'd never even met. But then Bruce moved quickly, grabbing Clint and spinning him around, bending him over, face down into the desk, taking a second to slick his own cock before he grabbed Clint's hips.

"Steve. Fucking Steve Rogers," Bruce spit out. "You kissed him."

Clint pushed with his arms, trying standing up. "Nothing happened, damn it. I was just trying to get the woman to leave us alone. I didn't …." Bruce covered Clint's body, bracing his hands on the desk top next to Clint's, catching Clint's ear with his teeth as the head of his cock was poised for a thrust.

"You fucking kissed him."

"Don't." Clint managed to keep his voice calm and even. "Not like this, doc. Let me see you." For a breath, he wasn't sure if Bruce could manage to control himself … or the big guy's jealousy … but then Bruce's hands lifted, and he stepped away; Clint turned back around, bringing them face-to-face. Bruce was trembling, fighting the rage that was evident in his shaking body.

"Clint … god … I don't want to hurt you …." He ground out, clenching his fists at his side. Clint grazed the side of Bruce's face with his fingers, and then ran his hand into Bruce's hair, tangling into the brown curls.

"You're really jealous," he said quietly. With the lightest pressure of his hand, he brought Bruce's face to his, as his arm circled Bruce's waist and corralled Bruce's body back into contact with Clint's. "Look at me while you fuck me Bruce." Just the slightest bump of bodies was enough to make Bruce lose what little control he had; grabbing Clint's legs, Bruce spread him open and thrust into Clint's tight ass in one smooth move.

"No Steve." Bruce growled as he pulled out and thrust again.

"No Steve." Clint agreed on a groan as Bruce's cock filled him and sent jolts of electricity up his spine.

"No one else." Bruce's hand circled Clint's cock and stroked roughly; the pressure of hand and cock fucking him together nearly drove Clint wild.

"No. One. Else." Clint could barely form the words as Bruce slammed into his prostate and the throb of pleasure overwhelmed his ability to think coherently.

"Mine?"

Clint's eyes flew open at the familiar voice; Bruce's face was fuller, his muscles straining to reign in the change, and Clint could feel Bruce buried deep inside him, bigger and harder than before. Those brown eyes stared, hurt and frustrated, as Bruce waited for Clint's answer.

"Ah, Big Guy, I'm yours." He stroked Bruce's face lovingly. "You know that."

"Mine." This time the word was a statement, a belief; the Hulk faded back as Bruce's lips found Clint's, his hand pumping on Clint's cock as he kept thrusting. Clint was too close to last long, and he came quickly, fast and hard, vision going white as he shot out strings of pearly liquid between their bodies. He said something, he could feel his mouth moving, but he didn't know what because the shudders were rolling through his body. Still, he knew when Bruce climaxed, sheathing himself deep inside Clint as he., filled Clint up, whispering his name.

"Damn, doc," Clint groaned. "Fuck."

Bruce pulled out of Clint, separating himself; he picked up a roll of paper towels and took a few before he tossed it to Clint. Cleaning up, he put himself back together as neatly as possible, avoiding Clint's eyes as he tucked his shirt in his pants.

"Bruce?" Clint cleaned and dressed as he spoke. "Remember the rules."

"God damn it, Clint. I will damn well apologize if I want to, mind-blowing sex or not." Bruce finally met Clint's eyes. "This is why I don't have relationships. The Other Guy gets so fucking possessive. But it's never been like that. He was there for a few seconds, wasn't he?"

"Listen to me." Clint took Bruce's chin in his hand. "This thing we're doing … this relationship … I'm all in, and there won't be anyone else unless we both agree to end this. Hell, you and the Big Guy are more than enough for me, okay?"

"I know that. Logically. But he doesn't always think that way."

"I'll talk to him later. Maybe we should head out to Hoover Dam; he'd love to go to the dam gift shop and the dam coffee shop. Lots of room out there."

"You read him _The Lightning Thief_, so you get the blame if he destroys anything."

Clint was happy to see that Bruce was smiling again, so he risked raising the issue. "Besides, me and Steve? He's too much like a dad or older brother. Just thinking about it feels … strangely incestuous. And it will be a cold day in hell before Miss Cherry Lip gloss tempts me to stray back to the straight and narrow. I can still taste that stuff."

They opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. No one gave them so much as a glance; the people were more interested in watching Tony wave the dice above his head, the blonde blowing on them before he twisted his wrist and tossed them onto the table. Standing at the outer edge of the crowd, Steve had his hands on his hips, disapproval evident in his posture. "Well, looks like we weren't missed."

Clint snagged a waitress and ordered another drink. "Looks like dinner will be after the show. We can have Robert change the reservations. Damn. I'm actually getting used to having a butler."

Steve nodded to them when they stopped beside hm. "It's like pouring kerosene onto a fire; his ego's getting bigger by the second."

"Well, wade in there and save him from Cherry." Clint pointed the woman's way. "We've got a show to make."

"Tony's enjoying himself," Steve unconsciously echoed Bruce's earlier question, and Clint exchanged a quick glance with his lover.

"Tony puts on a good show, I'll give him that." Bruce said. "But it's just a show, Steve. He plays the part well; you know it's not who he is."

"I just don't understand why he still does it." Steve pushed into the crowd, making his way to the table; Tony watched his approach from behind his ray-bans. He'd clearly been aware of the blonde man's watchful gaze.

"Good lord, were we that bad off when we started?" Bruce laughed.

"No. We were much more obvious, or so I've been told." Clint didn't question the contentment he felt just standing next to Bruce, the memory of his touch fresh on his body; idly, he wiped at the lingering cherry on his lips.

_The tube went back into the waterproof case it came in; she threw out the gloves she'd used to handle it, peeling off the paraffin covering she'd put on her lips for protection, cleaning her face and bare hands with a specialized wash. Another glove on her hand, she punched redial on the burner phone she'd gotten in the package; it rang so many times she thought no one was going to answer before the synthesized voice sounded through the speaker_

"_Well?" _

"_It's done." _

"_Good. The money will be wired into your account. Be sure and use that cleanser to avoid contamination."_

"_I did. It was a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to more easy jobs like this in the future."_

_Two hundred thousand for kissing three men. Not a bad night's work, she thought, as she grabbed her bag and purse. Drop the case in a garbage bin, and she'd be off to the airport where a late flight to New York City had a seat with her name on it. _

_She didn't notice the first tingle until she was scratching her face; the tingle turned to heat which turned into burning. Face and hands were on fire, and her throat constricted as she ran to the bathroom, cranking open the cold faucet, splashing the water on herself with abandon. In a few heartbeats, her throat swelled shut, the oxygen unable to get into her system ….and in less than five minutes, she was dead, eyes bulging, water overflowing and soaking her body where she'd fallen on the tiled floor._


	4. Get This Party Started

Bruce wasn't sure exactly how the party got started. They'd made the early show of _KÂ_; Steve had wanted to see Cirque du Soleil, Tony hadn't seen that one, and the Big Guy had really enjoyed the amazing performance, especially the shadow puppet scene and the big platform that tilted and spun. But things had started to get out of hand even as they went in. Clint insisted they have giant sized peach slushies – alcoholic, of course, and they were so sweet and fruity, Bruce had two before he even realized it – and Tony's presence didn't go unnoticed. Bruce often forgot Tony was a celebrity; working all day with him in the lab, he didn't seem glamorous, just the same old obnoxious and brilliant Tony who never cleaned his workspace. When women screamed, sometimes literally fainting at Tony's feet, and men clamored for his opinion, Bruce wanted to roll his eyes and remind Tony that he'd left a coffee stain on the blueprints for the new communicators he'd been working on.

The evening had somehow morphed into the penthouse full of showgirls, acrobats, and a couple business men from a Delaware company that manufactured parts for Stark Industries who had happened to be at the show. Alcohol was flowing like water, food kept appearing … hell, there was a chef in the kitchen taking orders for individually made omelets… and the hot tub was full of half-naked bodies, Tony right in the middle of them, wearing a swimsuit, thank heavens. There'd be a moment where total nudity was an option, and Bruce had heaved a sigh of relief when Tony's common sense had exerted itself. To be honest, sometimes Bruce thought Tony didn't have any inhibitions at all.

He took a second to locate Clint and found him out by the pool with three of the girls, two of them topless, teaching them the finer art of the cannonball. Bruce half-expected to see him break out his bow at any minute and start giving archery lessons. He'd already been talked down from that ledge once; the bet was he could shoot the head off of a statue in a penthouse three buildings away, but Steve had put the kibosh on the scheme. Seeing Clint with the women, so obviously drunk, reminded Bruce of his earlier behavior; it embarrassed him to think of how easily jealousy had won over reason. Not that he hadn't enjoyed where things had ended up, but still, he liked to believe he was in control. Of course, Clint's assertion that he was committed to the relationship was important to him … and why he was taking the smile and jokes in stride now. So, instead of getting angry, he let himself enjoy watching the muscles in Clint's back shift and move as he jumped, knees pulled up to his chest, rolling slightly forward to hit legs first, causing a spray of water that drenched the people nearby, all of whom were too drunk to care. One of the acrobats decided he could do better and jumped in, executing a spectacular flip. A contest quickly developed, and Clint bowed out gracefully when the Cirque people got involved.

"Here," Steve sat a full plate down in front of Bruce. "Time for those of us with miracle metabolisms to eat again. Olive, manchego cheese, Serrano ham, and asparagus omelet." He took a bite from his own. "Sometimes I feel like the little guys from those movies that Tony and Clint love so much, the ones that eat all the time."

"Hobbits," Bruce nodded, forking up a mouthful. "Second breakfast and nuncheon. I liked them."

"Clint's enjoying himself. Were the purple swim trunks his idea?" Bruce noticed Steve's gaze flit over the gaggle of soaking wet women hanging on Tony.

"I talked him out of the Hulk ones," Bruce laughed, watching as Clint padded over to the hot tub and slipped in. Tony said something to the women, and they moved over to the business man on the other side.

"Here's a Campo Viejo red that should pair nicely with your omelets," Robert sat the two glasses of wine beside them; his tray held two more whiskeys that he carried over to the hot tub. Nothing seemed to faze the butler.

Bruce realized he'd finished his omelet just before Robert sat another one down beside the first. Idly, he started eating the second one, thinking that Clint and Tony looked relaxed, and thought he'd join them when he was finished.

…..

"So, this is your plan? Sit here with boobs pressed all over you? Good thinking, Stark?" Clint sipped the drink Robert had brought them, slowing down a little. He was feeling sort of queasy, a little overheated with just a mild headache, so it was time to cut back. He had some plans for the evening, ones even Bruce didn't know about yet, and no way in hell he was going to get blind stinking drunk instead.

"Um, excuse me? Are you going to give me advice now?" Tony asked; Clint noticed Stark was flushed – he probably needed to get out of the heat for a bit. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"You're right, you didn't. You can piss away any chance you have, and that's fine with me." Clint shrugged, feigning indifference. "Not like I care."

"Everyone can just quit trying to help. Really, I'm just …"

"… too fucked up to make it work." Clint finished for him; he'd heard this little speech from Tony before. "Yeah, I know that one. Say it enough myself. Look. We're all fucked up. Hell, we dress up in costumes and run around pretending to be heroes. By definition, we are required to have screwed up childhoods, massive psychic trauma, and psychiatrist bills out the ass, okay? But here's the truth. This thing with Bruce? Odds are one of us is going to fuck it up eventually … so I've decided that the mind-blowingly, damn good shag, regularly occurring sex is worth it, even if it's just for a short time. You might think about that because there's no way the two of you wouldn't make me wish for ear plugs three floors down." Clint punctuated his words by drunkenly poking Tony in the chest.

"Are you done?" Stark had that tolerant look on his face he often got when Clint amused him as he absently scratched his cheek.

"Hey, if you can't say stupid things when you're drunk, when can you, right?"

"For the record, it's really not any of your business …." Tony held up his hand to forestall Clint's argument "… but I'll give you that one since I did bet on when you and Bruce would finally fuck each other senseless."

Clint seemed to sober up for a second. "Either make the move or cut the guy loose. Don't' string him along. He's too good for that." Climbing out of the Jacuzzi, he grabbed a towel to dry off before he dripped his way across the tile floor, past a group of women dancing to music he didn't know, and over to the counter. Reaching around Bruce, he snagged the last bite off the plate as he slid onto the next stool.

"Steve seems right at home. I forget about his show biz experience." Clint bumped his knee against Bruce's as he spun around to look at the room. Steve was swapping stories about life on the road with a gaggle of women and a couple of the Cirque performers.

Robert sat a full-plate on the counter. "I added some patatas bravas for you, Mr. Barton," the butler gave him a set of silverware and a linen napkin along with a glass of red wine. "Would you like some, Dr. Banner? They're going fast."

"No, thank you, Robert. I'm full for the moment. Unless you have some of that wine left?" Bruce asked as Clint started eating.

"Oh, god, these are delicious. Remind me of a place in Cordoba, the old city, down one of those narrow little streets. Had the best potatoes, came with three dipping sauces." Clint shoved another big forkful into his mouth, chewed, and made little noises that sounded suspiciously like moans – and he didn't give a damn. "Nat ordered some eggplant thing – thought I'd hate it – but they were breaded, fried, and drizzled with honey. Honey, Bruce, all sticky and you had to lick your fingers when you were done." Eyes turned a darker blue as he talked, shifting in his seat to rub his thigh along Bruce's leg. "Can't remember the name of it, but, damn, I haven't had food like this since then. Maybe Pepe something."

"Casa Pepe de Juderia. It's near the Cathedral. Excellent food." Robert supplied the answer as he topped off Bruce's glass. "Miquel, the chef, is from the south of Spain. His family has a restaurant in town, little place off the strip, but very authentic. This is their recipe for the patatas."

"We should go tomorrow, just the four of us. Order tapas." Clint kept eating as he talked; the food was amazing and was filling up his stomach, helping ease the nausea that had been growing, pushing back the alcohol headache. Which, if hadn't been quite so drunk, would have registered as weird because he almost never got sick when he drank.

"Sounds good." Bruce agreed. Clint was glad to see Bruce mellow and happy, sipping his wine; he knew Bruce didn't like crowds, and this was not his type of party. "I don't know what's happening with the meetings, but we could do dinner."

"I'll be glad to make you a reservation. The establishment is very popular with the locals." Robert nodded as he moved off to take a tray of drinks to Steve and the ladies.

"I needed that," Clint pushed back the plate. "Something to soak up all the whiskey. Now, are you going to come into the pool or not?" Hand on Bruce's knee, Clint gave him his best come-hither look.

"You just ate."

"That's an old wives tale about waiting an hour, and just the pool. I promise. No diving or splashing or anything. You need to come out to the edge to see the city." Clint wiggled his eyebrows at Bruce, getting a smile at his antics. "Besides, you already have your suit on, just toss the shirt and let's go."

Bruce gave in, picking up his wine and taking it with them as they threaded their way to the pool. The water was just the right temperature; the sun began to set, heat giving way to coolness of desert night, and most of the people were clustered either with Tony in the hot tub or inside with Steve and the food. The water wasn't very deep, so they could walk all the way to the Plexiglas wall where the city stretched out before them, lights glowing as the darkness settled. Bumping up behind Bruce, Clint nuzzled his nose into Bruce's neck, and they floated together, not speaking, just watching the changing sky. Clint kissed Bruce's neck, gentle brush of lips along the muscle, warm breath curling over the skin; hands caressed Bruce's sides, winding around his waist to hug their bodies together.

"There are people everywhere," Bruce protested, but he covered Clint's hands with his own, making no effort to move away.

"Just a kiss, doc. Nothing but a kiss." Bruce's skin was beneath Clint's lips, and he tasted his way up Bruce's neck, behind his ear, scruff of Bruce's jaw prickly under his tongue as he caught Bruce's chin and turned his head towards him so he could reach his mouth. Starting with the bottom lip, he licked the edges then ran the tip of his tongue along the soft middle, parting and dipping into the wetness of Bruce's mouth. Wine and spice mingled, and Clint delved further, skating over teeth, slanting his lips and then sucking on the bottom as he pulled away.

"You're hot," Bruce said, moving Clint's hands, freeing himself to turn around. "I mean warm, like overheated."

"I'm always hot, doc," Clint grinned at the other man. "And I'm going to kiss you again."

"There's no such thing as just a kiss with you," Bruce answered, his eyes shining with pleasure and open invitation.

Keeping their fingers intertwined, Clint rested their hands on the Plexiglas wall and bent towards Bruce's mouth again, slowly, pausing just before lips touched and then sinking into the other man, bodies light and buoyant. He could kiss Bruce like this forever, floating both on the water and on a pleasant buzz, time collapsing until hours could be passing and he wouldn't even care. The sounds of the party faded, and he kept kissing Bruce with the kaleidoscope of lights behind them.

"Hey," Tony's voice intruded. "Hey. Enough of that. We're heading out to find a club. Get some clothes on and let's go."

"Club? What's wrong with here?" Clint complained, headache starting up again. He was entirely too content, and club hopping with Tony and entourage wasn't as appealing as working his way up to that big bedroom upstairs and kissing Bruce all night long.

"Steve's a Vegas virgin. Can't come to town and not do some club hopping, the cheesier the better." Tony had donned a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt at some point, and Clint realized that the room had cleared out, almost all the people gone. Maybe if it was just the four of them, the expedition might not be that bad.

Bruce pushed away from the wall. "Give us ten minutes; we'll be right behind you."

"You want to go?" Clint was surprised at Bruce's agreement.

"Someone has to keep Tony in line, and Steve will need a sober person to talk to." Bruce handed Clint a towel as he got out of the water. "Maybe we can find karaoke while we're out. You know I like to hear you sing."

It did take only five minutes to throw on some pants and shirts; Clint was finished by the time Bruce got directions from Tony for the first stop and came upstairs to change. Waiting downstairs for Bruce – so they'd actually get out of the hotel, Bruce had said - he noticed a gift basket set off to the side in the kitchen.

"Ladybank?" He asked Robert, pulling the bottle from the middle of the basket. "Where did this come from?"

"It arrived this afternoon, a welcome gift from Fabersham Metronics."

Clint cracked the seal; Tony kept fine scotch at the Tower, and Clint knew this was one of his favorites. Pouring just a little into the glass Robert gave him, he sniffed it first, savoring the aroma before sipping, letting it rest on his tongue before it slid like silk down his throat.

"You ready?" Bruce came down the stairs, just as the warmth of the liquor hit Clint's gut.

"Ladybank. Want some?" Clint raised his drink to show Bruce just as his mouth started to itch, the onset of heat flaring on his lips. His breathing hitched as his throat started to swell; glass shattered when it hit the floor, falling out of Clint's hand. Bruce grabbed him as he sagged; his head was on fire and he couldn't get enough air.

"Bruce?" He tried to say, but only a ragged gasp came out of his mouth. Pain exploded, washing down his shoulders and into his hands, fingers clenching, and his vision went red and then the world spun out of control.


	5. Chapter 5: You Spin Me Round

"How much you want to bet Kirk & Spock don't make it?" Tony said as he watched the crawl of traffic on the strip through the tinted window of the Lincoln Towncar.

"Kirk & Spock?" Steve asked.

"Star Trek? We haven't watched Star Trek yet? Going on the list. Great Sci-fi TV show, plus a string of movies, some of the great and some spectacularly bad. Khannnnnnnn!" Tony did his best William Shatner impersonation as he pulled out his smart phone to add to his running list of things Steve needed to see, the one he kept posted in the movie room as potential viewing suggestions. Then, the car came to a halt, and they caught themselves on the rear of the driver's seat to keep from sliding forward. In front of them was a line of red tail lights, blue flashing lights in the distance.

"Sorry, sir," the driver said. "Looks like an accident has got things tied up. I'll take an alternate route." They made a right, then a left onto a smaller street that ran behind some of the larger hotels, crossing under the monorail. Plenty of other cars were doing the same thing, but at least they were moving.

"Lots of people driving short distances," Steve mused as the driver took another turn onto a smaller street. "In New York, we'd walk or take the bus." His eyes itched a little, and he rubbed them; it was too early for sleep, at least on Vegas time, but he was used to East Coast hours, so he didn't think anything about letting his lids drift shut for a second.

The squeal of tires sounded in front and behind them; this time, they tumbled onto the floorboards, Steve's eyes jerking open as he was thrown into Tony as their car skidded to the left. A red older model BMW blocked the road in front of them; glancing behind, Steve saw a black car boxing them in from behind, men opening the doors. He turned to Tony, but he was out, head lolling against the front of the driver's seat – a driver who had exited the car, leaving the door hanging open.

"Damn it." Steve knew what this was, a kidnapping attempt, and that he was the wild card in the deck. Few people had the knowledge of his body's ability to burn off drugs quickly, including alcohol, so the kidnappers had gone with knocking them out to make the snatch-and-grab much easier. Too bad for them the gas didn't work on him. If he acted fast enough, he could limit Tony's exposure as well.

He pulled Tony's body with him as he popped open the door on the side closest to the sidewalk; the men weren't rushing to get out of the cars, assuming they weren't able to move, giving them time to get a good dose of the gas. Exploding out of the car, he hoisted Tony over his shoulder and made a run for the nearest alley way. He doubted they'd open fire since the goal was to take them alive, but you could never tell what someone wielding a gun would do under pressure. Darting into the darkness afforded by the buildings, he wound around the garbage dumpsters and past the back door of a dance spot where people were gathered, smoking and kissing and dancing. He bumped into a couple who were entwined, looking cozy, snatching a baseball cap off the guy's head and using it to cover his blonde hair. There was no disguising Tony over his shoulder, so he kept going, putting the crowd between him and the pursuers who were still coming; the bad guys had to shove their way through, slowed down enough for Steve to open a good lead on them.

The alley emptied onto a street that could only be described as a sleazy. Neon signs touted XXX rated shows and nude girls – one boasted "The Best Ass in Vegas." Street walkers plied their trade, while others lured men and women into the various establishments. A pair of intoxicated men stumbled their way, and Steve intentionally headed for them as he got Tony down on his feet and leaned him up against his shoulder.

"Tony, wake up," he gave him a good hard shake, and Tony's eyes parted.

"What?" he slurred, feet moving a few steps.

"Come on, I need you awake, can you do that?" Hunching down and putting Tony's head on his shoulder to make it harder to see his face, Steve weaved, half-dragging Tony with him, tossing his around arm around one of the drunk men. "Phil! We're ready to party. Let's go."

"Alan? Hey, I thought you guys were still at the card table," the guy was so far gone he wouldn't have known his own brother. "Going to this club Ralph told us about. You know Ralph in Accounting? The last Christmas party?"

As the pursuers came out onto the street and turned their way, another group, a bachelor party from the "I'm the groom" t-shirt one of the men was wearing, ran unwitting interference for them, and Steve ducked in the nearest doorway.

"Welcome gentlemen," the male door keeper didn't bat an eyelash at the pair; out of breath, tall man supporting an obviously drunk companion. "Open floor or private room?"

"Private would be nice," Steve glanced over his shoulder. No one was in his line of sight.

"Of course, sir. Right this way."

…

"What the fuck?" Clint rasped; he had gone from hot to freezing, tremors racking his frame. Bruce tightened his hold on his lover, fighting the anger and fear that were swirling inside of him. "Why am I so c-c-c-cold?"

"That's the epinephrine." Bruce could feel the other guy overwhelming him, the few minutes of absolute terror when Clint almost stopped breathing fraying his control. "Robert had an epi-pen."

"I have a shellfish allergy. Always keep a pen with me." The young butler said, on his knees beside them, his face filled with concern. The man was handling everything without blinking, but there was no way the other guy was going to be satisfied unless he got to see and touch Clint himself, so the butler was about to deal with a much bigger issue.

"But I don't have allergies, and I've had that scotch before." Clint was still confused, and it was obvious that his sluggish brain was trying to process everything.

"You were overheated earlier in the pool." Bruce rubbed his hands over Clint's arms, using friction to provide some warmth. In the frantic moments when Clint had fallen to the floor, and Bruce had propped him up against his own body, trying to stop him from choking to death, the day had flashed into stark relief as the mathematical part of Bruce's brain added all the variables and came to the solution. The woman who had kissed Clint, along with both Steve and Tony, the cloying taste of that cherry flavored lipstick. Clint being warm, Tony's flushed skin, neither Bruce nor Steve with any symptoms, then one sip of scotch probably laced with a reacting agent – someone was trying to kill them, and he or she had almost been successful getting to Clint.

"I thought it w-w-w-was just the drinks. Felt nauseous, had a headache, but it got better when I ate. Been coming on all evening, might have been a cold." Clint couldn't keep still, the adrenaline running through him; Bruce tried to make soothing motions, stroking Clint's arms, but his own muscles were clenched tight; he only had a matter of time before he was going to lose the battle. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his phone; when he got voice mail, he left a quick message for Tony to check back in, telling him succinctly what had happened and Bruce's suspicions about Tony's vulnerability. Then he called Steve's phone and left the same message.

"Robert, can you get a message to the club, just in case? They need to be careful."

"Of course, sir." The man seemed relieved to have something to do. "I'll also prepare some water and ibuprophen for Mr. Barton. He needs to hydrate and to rest after an episode. Do you need help getting Mr. Barton upstairs, sir?"

"We should go get them," Clint protested, trying to push up from the floor, but falling back, weak and shaky. Even now, when he had to feel like hell, Clint was ready to head into trouble; it was so like him, that Bruce actually felt better. If Clint was being suicidally brave then he was going to be okay.

"The only place you're going is to bed." Bruce tried to get both of them upright, but fighting his own body was doubly hard when he was supporting Clint; without a word, Robert took Clint's left side and the three of them got up the elevator and into the bedroom, letting Clint down on the bed before Robert left. With just enough time to unbutton his shirt and kick off his shoes, Bruce closed his eyes and felt the familiar pulling away from his skin, as if he was shrinking inside of himself; he usually struggled hard, holding on as long as he could, but this time he didn't, stepping back willingly and allowing the looming presence to plow forward, overtaking him. As it did, he kept his thoughts clear and forceful. "Make him rest. Protect him. Don't smash," he repeated to the other guy. Since the Battle of New York, he'd done this more times than he ever had before – let the Hulk out on purpose, when he wasn't angry or, like now, when he agreed that the other guy could take control. Rather than fade into unconscious as he often did when he made the change, this way he could remember more clearly, sometimes even able to exert influence. He puzzled over that for just a second, and then he wasn't him anymore.

"Cupid cold." The Hulk scooped up Clint as if he weighed nothing, dragging the comforter from the bed with them and took him out on the balcony where they could see the lights of the city. Sitting cross-legged, he slung Clint's knees over his thigh and let Clint's head lay on his chest, tucking the cover around him.

"Hey, I need my arms," Clint protested, digging his hands out of the tangle.

"Rest. Stay here." He repeated what the little guy had told him; protecting Clint was the most important thing right now. "Hulk watch."

"Look, I'm fine, okay? I really need to find Tony and Steve …" He cut Clint off by gently lifting Clint's chin with his hand and giving him a kiss.

"Cupid almost died. Promise not to." The Hulk felt the gnawing of fear, the memory of Clint's closed eyes and shaking body all mixed up with the image of a woman, hurt and bleeding, lying on the kitchen floor. In his experience, people usually were afraid of him, running from him or trying to attack him, and that was easy – if he didn't have anyone, he never had to be scared for them. Now there was Tony, who was annoying but the little guy liked him, and Steve, who treated him like just another person, and Red, who came back after he scared her, and even Thor, who was like one of those punching things that he saw in commercials, bopping back after a hard hit. And, above all, there was Clint, who made him laugh and made the little guy let him out to play, who watched cartoons with him and read him books; he refused to think about not having Clint even if it meant his heart was going to hurt.

"I can't promise that, Big Guy. I'm not like you, but I'll do my best." He could see that Clint was giving him that look, the one he used when he was trying to be all adult; the Hulk did what he always did and just ignored it.

"Hulk not like Vegas. Not having fun." He pouted. But he did like the way Clint's body had stopped shaking and was getting warmer.

"Well that's because you haven't had your surprise yet. Bruce and I have something in mind you're really going to like." Clint was smiling at him now, in that lopsided way that looked like the thief from the movie about the girl in the tower. The Hulk liked that movie because he loved Maximus the horse.

"Surprise for me?" He also loved surprises, and Clint's were always the best.

Robert rolled a cart through the glass doors; the smell that preceded him made the Hulk's stomach growl and Clint laughed. "I've brought you some protein and carbohydrates. As the epinephrine wears off, it will help if you eat." A plate of delicious smelling ravioli was under a steel cover. "And for Dr. Banner …" The Hulk growled at that and, for the first time, Robert hesitated, eyes flicking over to them "… for the Hulk, a selection from B&B of their best dishes: tortellini, crab ravioli, gnocchi, and pappardelle Bolognese. I made sure to order tiramisu – theirs is excellent – and some cannoli and chocolate fritters. Mr. Stark said you liked Italian." He left the food, nodded and headed back to the door.

"All Fred." The Hulk said. "Hulk hungry. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Robert inclined his head and left them alone.

"Before you tear into that … and don't hog it all because I'm going to want to try some of it – I need to make a call." Clint dug the phone out of his pocket, and the Big Guy growled. "I'm not going anywhere, staying right here." With a few quick taps, he had the phone to his ear; the Hulk's hearing was sharp enough to hear both ends of the conversation.

"What the hell are you doing calling me? You're supposed to be having fun in Vegas. Sex and liquor, remember?" Natasha sounded wide awake despite the time difference.

"Lots of both already. You still have your contacts here?" Clint asked.

Red was quiet for a second. "Do I need to come out there?"

"No. I just need some intel."

"No Red." The Hulk growled his discontent as he reached for the steel serving pan.

"Tell the Big Guy I heard that."

…..

The woman on the stage's far-too-large breasts defied gravity as she gyrated her hips, hands running up and down her naked body; the loud pounding of what could loosely be called music, but was more like a series of moans and groans. The audience was more interested in their drinks and the scantily clad waitresses than what she was doing. Downing a shot of vodka, Tony sank back into the banquette seat of the private alcove; he was still fighting off the effects of the gas and drinking wasn't the best choice, but, hell, drinking was his go-to response especially when he had almost been kidnapped and was in a sex club with Steve Rogers. Sex club. Steve Rogers. Yeah, he needed a couple more shots to get through this.

"Jennifer says that the place empties out when this show is over. We can wander out with the crowd," Steve was talking about the waitress, seemingly unperturbed by the performance where the woman was now groping her own breast with one hand and slicking over her clitoris with the other. "With hats and the new jackets, we should be able to slip through and grab a taxi back to the hotel."

"If you'd picked up my phone, we could have been out of here already." Tony groused mostly because he was overheated, fuzzy-brained, and starting to get aroused, the last state he wanted to be in right now. When a man joined the woman on stage, Tony cursed under his breath and reached for the other drink on the table.

"Next time, I'll ask them to wait while I fish it out from under the set," Steve said in that long-suffering voice he often used when Tony got snarky; he should really try to curb that tendency to snap at people, but it wasn't going to be today. How the hell was he going to sit here, having a conversation while two people were having sex just feet away? The couple had changed positions and she was on her knees now, turned to the side so everyone could see her swallow down the man's large cock as he thrust into her mouth. Turning away from the stage, Tony looked at Steve, expecting to see that famous blush – and damn it, he really enjoyed making Steve turn red – but Steve simply sat there, watching.

"Seriously? Tasha mentions her period and you blush like a school boy, but this … " Tony waved his hand at the stage "… doesn't bother you? How the hell does that work?"

"You think I've never seen porn before? It's a show, Tony. That's all it is." Steve shrugged and sipped at his rum and coke. He might not be able to get drunk, but he could still enjoy the taste. Plus, there was a two drink minimum for places like this. Of course, Tony could drink enough for both of them. "I just don't necessarily need to know about my friends', um, specific information."

The couple switched into a gravity-defying position; he held her body out at an angle, her face to the floor, her legs wrapped around him as he pounded into her. Abs muscles clenched as he held her up with his arms; the advantage was that her breasts bounced with each thrust, and a ripple of appreciation ran through the audience.

"Some plastic surgeon got serious cash for those puppies. And that isn't a comfortable position." Tony couldn't keep his mouth closed. Maybe the alcohol wasn't a good an idea; the random thoughts that popped into his head were flying right off his tongue. Aw, hell, that happened even when he was sober, who was he kidding?

"Is there anything you haven't tried?" The second the words left Steve's mouth, he did blush, and Tony simply stared at him for a few seconds before he answered.

"Do you blush everywhere?" Not what he'd planned to say, just what had tumbled out as moans rumbled from the next private booth. Steve's eyes widened a little, but the corner of his mouth ticked up.

"Everywhere," he answered. "What else do you want to know?"

Oh, that was a dangerous road to go down. No way was Tony going to start that conversation. But his mouth had other ideas, it seemed. "How does Peggy fit in?" Damn. Damn. Damn. What the hell was he doing?

"Peggy was … is still, I imagine … amazing and strong. I learned from her not to wait too long." Steve's face grew wistful then he eyed Tony. "Question for question? What happened with Pepper?

A wave of applause drew their attention back to thestage; a second man had entered and his cock was enormous, ridiculously so. With a shove, he pushed the couple over to a low slung table; with quick contortions, the woman was on her back, her first partner leaning over her to push back in, leaving him exposed to the second man to hold down and begin fingering his ass open.

"Oh, hell, that's serious enhancement there," Tony finished off the drink and prayed the waitress brought another fast. "Um, well, ah … Pepper is one of the few people who can put up with me and still show up the next day. I thought, maybe, we both did, but, damn it, we're better the way we are." He so didn't want to talk about this, not even get close to the reason he and Pepper had realized that they were never going to be more than what they were. To avoid it, Tony went on the attack. "Alright, Steve, truth or dare, yes or no questions. Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Yes. Have you ever been in love?"

"Yes." And Tony still loved Pepper, just as a best friend. "Ever gotten yourself off?"

"Yes. Did you sleep with Natasha?"

Tony was surprised by that one, but he shook his head. "No. God, no. I like my balls where they are thank you. I do have a sense of self-preservation." The loud cries of the audience egged on the performers as the man with the giant cock rammed himself into other man, causing him to fuck the woman harder. "Okay, go for the gold. Ever done that to a man?"

Steve's eyes were steady and never lost contact with Tony's. "No, and before you ask, no one has done it to me. Furtive blow jobs are the limits of my experience."

"Captain America knows about blow jobs," Tony tried to make light of the moment, but he couldn't. God, those blue eyes were so expressive and open; he could read everything there, the desire and hesitation, want and worry. The need to lean over and kiss Steve's lips – he even blushed there and they probably tasted like rum – was overriding what little self-control he had, which wasn't much on his best days.

"Damn it, Tony, I'm not some sort of innocent virgin, you know." Steve shifted forward, closing the distance between them, and rested his hand on Tony's thigh. Heat spiraled up to his groin, as if he wasn't already hard enough just from the sounds of the show, the topic of conversation, and those eyes daring him to do it.

"You need to stop pushing it. I'm not known for abstaining, Steve," Tony warned in a low voice.

"I know your reputation for fucking anything that moves. Question is, why are you not going for it?" He was so serious, like he doubted his own appeal, though how he could think anyone wouldn't have the wettest of dreams about that body, Tony couldn't imagine. Not that it was just the rock hard abs and the chiseled thighs; no, Steve was, well, Steve, all respect and courage and straightforwardness. And hearing the word 'fucking' coming from that mouth? It was all too much; with a muttered curse, Tony's hands went to those broad shoulders and pushed him back onto the bench, fingers curling around the muscles as he brought their mouths together, lips parting as he kissed Steve, Steve fucking Rogers, just like he'd imagined doing a hundred times while he jacked off, dreaming exactly what he would taste like, how he would moan when Tony's tongue swept into his mouth.

But those fantasies didn't compare to the real thing; the feel of Steve's lips was like nothing Tony had ever known. Definitely not like all those nameless and faceless women and men, the one night, one moment, make-himself-feel-better-for-a-few-seconds, hung over memories. Not even like Pepper, the closest he'd ever come to really knowing someone and caring enough about her to not want to hurt her. No, Steve Rogers was like the finest whiskey Tony had ever sipped, single malt, rarest of all, a heady mixture of innocence, need, and just a whiff of forbidden desire. There was danger in his willing openness, the way he kissed Tony back with abandon; this wasn't someone Tony could bullshit or lie to or even wear his mask around. Steve knew him for exactly who he was without the suit, without his playboy persona, and, damn it all to hell, he wanted Tony anyway. That knowledge slammed into Tony's groin, and he knew he had to have more of this, more of the drug that was burning away all of the effects of the vodka and knock-out gas, forcing the heat that roiled in his head to settle.

"No." Tony somehow managed to pull back in the haze of the moment.

"No?" Steve blinked, hands gripping Tony's thighs; Tony hadn't even noticed when he'd straddled Steve or when he unconsciously moved his hands into Steve's hair or even when he'd begun to grind his cock against Steve's. Hurt flashed across that expressive face and then was replaced by tight control.

"No." Tony tried again to get anything that made sense to come out. "I mean, not now. Not here. Goddamn it, Steve, we're not going to do this here."

"There's never going to be a perfect time or place," Steve murmured, seeming just as confused as Tony felt, "not with our lives. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't take the Lord's name in vain, Tony."

A chuckle started in his chest, and Tony found himself laughing amidst the audience's applause that signaled the end of the show. "Right. I'll try to remember that when I'm keeping myself from fucking you in public, Turbo Rocket."

"Turbo Rocket?" Steve asked.

"Turbo Rocket. Red, white, and blue popsicle. You had them in your day." Tony couldn't help goading Steve a little, a sense of euphoria racing through his body.

At that, a slow sexy smile spread across Steve's face, and Tony had to push himself away to keep from kissing him again. "Oh, yes, I remember. Have to lick them fast or they melt in your hand. I think we can work on that." He adjusted himself, his erection evident against the zipper of his khaki pants. Grabbing the denim jacket he'd borrowed from the waitress, he dropped some money on the table, far more than what they owed, as the crowd began to filter out.

"You are going to kill me, you know that?" Tony, breath completely knocked out his chest by Steve's comeback, wondered just exactly what he'd gotten himself into; usually he was the one in charge, calling the shots, but he had a sneaking suspicion he'd just handed the keys over to someone else.


	6. Chapter 6: The Boys Are Back In Town

"Okay, I think I could have lived a long and happy life without ever seeing that," Tony said as he took a picture anyway.

"I thought you lost your phone." Steve politely averted his eyes until Clint and the Big Guy stopped kissing. "And shouldn't you be worried about that? I mean, there's information on it, right?"

"Digital wipe program will initiate if it doesn't recognize my fingerprint or voice. There will be nothing to find." Tony winked when Clint threw a dirty look at him. "Of course I have another phone. Who has only one phone?

"Normal people," Clint unfolded himself from the Hulk's lap, stood and stretched. He was still feeling some of the effects of the adrenaline, and it was fighting with the Benadryl he'd taken; one wanted to put him to sleep, the other to wake him up. "Thor doesn't understand the boundaries of PDAs, but this freaks you out?"

"Before we devolve any further, I think the point is that someone tried to kidnap us and you almost died. Can we get back to that?" Steve insisted. The Hulk growled at Steve as he rose to his feet to tower behind Clint on the balcony.

"Ixnay on the ieday, okay? The Big Guy doesn't like that word." That was what had set the whole kiss off in the first place, Tony's insistence on knowing the exact details of the earlier incident. "If you're interested, I did learn some new pieces of information that might be relevant while you two were off on your triple X jaunt. Can't believe you didn't at least get a t-shirt as a souvenir."

"Yeah, well, next time I'm avoiding a gang of kidnappers, I'll remember to bring you back a snow globe." Tony shot back. "Come to think about it, I'm sure you can buy little ones with couples in the act somewhere in Vegas. I'll get you one before we leave. Wonder if they have one with a big green guy and a little dude?"

"I thought that anti-histamines were supposed to make you sleepy?" Steve mused to no one in particular since they didn't seem to be paying any attention to him.

"Told you it just wires me up. Better than a hit of espresso." Tony shot a cocky grin at Steve. Wasn't that interesting, Clint thought, noting the change in the other two's byplay; definitely something going on there worth activating his super-sleuthing powers … maybe tomorrow when his head wasn't quite so muddled.

"Anyway," Clint decided to just jumpstart the original conversation since he kept getting off subject. The jitters will do that. "Seems the police found the body of one Angela Carpenter, a grifter fairly well-known in those circles. Anaphylatic shock, an extreme case. Strange thing was she had no history of any allergies, and they found some very high end lipstick and cleanser nearby. Want to guess the flavor of that lipstick?"

"Whoever hired her killed her; whatever's in the lipstick is inert until the activating agent is applied. Scotch for us, cleanser for her?" Although he made it a question, Steve's suspicions made perfect sense. "Covering his tracks so there are no loose ends."

"And rumor is that the shooter out at Fabersham was a local for hire, and he was also supposed to take a couple shots at another target. Seems he got cold feet once he realized who it was." If Nat's sources were right, someone had been aiming for them from the very start. "The shooter's disappeared. Permanently, the story goes."

"So someone at the restaurant – one of the drunks, or the business men, or the other people – was probably paid to start that as well?" Steve shook his head. "Why? To get to you? It's too sloppy, if you ask me. Too many chances for things to go wrong."

"Cherry lips kissed both of you too," Clint said. "She only missed Bruce."

"Who would get a dose through you, bucko, since you can't seem to keep from locking lips. The whole thing is like amateur hour." Tony aimed his next question to Clint. "Who have you pissed off now?"

"Hey, why does it have to be me? You have tons of enemies. Why not you?" Clint shot back. Damn it, Tony was a much bigger target than he was, and Clint wasn't taking the blame for this one. Not after they'd just gotten done with the whole Loki/Monica thing.

It was Steve who noticed the red dot hovering just to the right of Tony's arc reactor, wavering slightly as Tony stepped forward to point at Clint.

"Excuse me, but between you shooting everything, and the Big Guy smashing everything in sight, I think it's more likely that …" Tony stopped. "Oh my god. You're Han & Chewie. But wait, does that make me …"

"Gun!" Catching Tony's arm, Steve threw him to the ground, using his own body as a shield. Reacting almost as quickly, the Hulk cradled Clint by encircling him with his arms, putting his back between Clint and the bullets that came tearing through the night. Three in a row; one pinged off a lounge chair, and two smacked into the glass wall.

"No! Hulk stop." With a bound, the Big Guy made one leap in the direction of the shots, letting out an angry roar.

"Get your suit. Someone has to go after him," Steve helped Tony get up. As Tony left, Steve turned to Clint. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine once I have my bow and can shoot one of these suckers. One damn vacation. That's all I want." But he knew that was too much to ask. Theirs wasn't a normal kind of life, 9-to-5 with vacation time and sick days, whether he was a SHIELD agent or not. Someone would always be after them, a new crisis looming.

As if on cue, boots sounded from downstairs, and a crash reverberated. "They're inside," Steve pushed through the door. "I need to get down there."

"Go. I'll hold this position."

His bow wasn't far, just on the other side of the bed, and Clint made a dash, in case there was more than one sniper out there and the Big Guy missed them. As he passed through the door, a heavy weight slammed into his calves, knocking him down. Bolos wrapped around his legs. Who the hell used them in this day and age? He'd fallen on his face, and now he rolled over to see four men in black combat gear coming into the room; ropes fell onto the balcony where they'd repelled down from the roof.

"Really, people? Are we in a spaghetti western, here?" He took in the semi-automatic weapons and ski masks. Whatever this was, it was a serious effort. "I don't suppose you want to tell me the plan? Oooo, how about how much I'm worth alive? 'Cause that is what this is all about right? No professional is that bad of a shot without meaning to be."

"It would be easier if we didn't have to drag your unconscious ass." One of the men said; Clint sat on the floor and kept his hands where they could see them.

"You're in luck. I'm ready to finish this. Take me to your leader."

…..

Steve didn't bother with the stairs, just jumped the railing and landed in the middle of a group of black clad commandos. He saw Robert in the hallway with an iron skillet; with a strike worthy of Babe Ruth, the butler slammed the flat bottom into a man's head who went down hard, and Robert kept swinging, aiming for another. Steve's first punch took one by surprise then they all pulled back and ran for the edge of the patio, where they jumped over, using fast zip lines to get away as Steve watched.

"Captain Rogers," Robert said from the doorway. "They took Mr. Stark. Out the front door. I tried to stop them …"

"It's okay, Robert." Steve put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "You managed to knock a couple out for us to interrogate. We'll find out where they've taken him. Help me tie them up." Back in the room, Steve lifted the men and sat them in the dining table chairs, leaving Robert to find some way to restrain them as he took the stairs two at a time.

"Clint?" No one answered, the bedroom was empty, and the bow case still closed. "Clint?" he asked again as he caught sight of the repelling lines on the balcony. "Damn it."

With the Hulk off chasing snipers, Steve was on his own to find the others, and he actually felt sorry for whoever had to deal with Tony & Clint. Each on their own could be a fly in the ointment; together? Well, he hoped the kidnappers had infinite patience.

….

"At least you're fully clothed." Tony rattled the chains that held their arms suspended, but they didn't budge. "This could be even more awkward if you weren't."

"What? You don't like hanging around with me? Tony, I'm hurt." Batting his eyes in a really bad imitation of coyness, Clint had to laugh at their situation. At least their feet were on the ground, but with their wrists locked and chained, they had ended up face-to-face despite their best efforts to turn around. "And here I thought we were working through all of our problems. Back to couples' counseling for us."

The men guarding them were listening, obviously fascinated by the two men's behavior. From the moment they'd been left here, waiting, an endless stream of back and forth taunting, needling, and insults had ensued. Clint was actually enjoying himself; if he hadn't been so damn tired, he might have taken this seriously, but the whole situation was almost surreal.

"Did you really ask them to take you to their leader?" Tony was as wired as he had been earlier, a foolhardy gleam in his eyes. "That was you plan? Get her?"

"I'll have you know that would have worked if you hadn't stopped me," Clint shot back. "It's not like I'm looking for the Gatekeeper or Keymaster or anything." He saw Tony's eye roll. "What? Did you want to put fake cuffs on the Big Guy and we could just walk him in here? Prisoner transfer from cellblock 1138?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no way in hell that I'm Luke. Steve is Luke. I am so Han Solo." Tony complained.

"Well, the Big Guy's Chewie, so that makes me Han by default. You're Leia, dude.

"I am not a Princess!"

"You came here in that? You're braver than I thought." Clint smirked. "You'd so say that and you know it."

The door to the room opened and two people entered. The middle-aged man wore a business suit, an expensive one, cell phone held to his ear. He looked non-descript, very normal; Clint would have passed him by on the street without a second glance … and that meant he was the most dangerous of the lot they'd met so far.

But it was the woman behind him who demanded their attention. Pink spandex mini-skirt, white thigh high spiked heel boots, white bustier –the cape was the real kicker, like some sort of superhero from an old 80s movie. She flipped her blonde hair – teased up at least 4 inches from her forehead – and had on honest-to-god neon pink lipstick.

"What's this? Princess Morbucks? Or Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward?" Clint asked, incredulous. "I mean, Emma Frost will just freeze your ass if you're trying to copy her. Talk about an ice queen."

"Wait. You've met Emma Frost? I hear she's smokin' hot." Tony stared at Clint. "Storm too? 'Cause I have this fantasy thing going about a threesome with her and …"

"Gentlemen," the woman said, interrupting them. "Sorry to cause you any inconvenience."

"Amanda, right? Public Relations from Fabersham." Tony looked her over. "Couldn't wait to meet me this morning. This crosses the line into fatal attraction type stalking, you know."

"Tony, tell me you didn't have sex with her, and now she's gone postal on us." Clint sighed. "This is a habit with you."

"Hey, the Enchantress doesn't count. That was Thor. And I believe Monica was all Bruce. In fact, I think I'm the only one without an evil ex-girlfriend."

"Monica wasn't Bruce's girlfriend," Clint objected. "She was just a wack job on her own, and I don't have any evil exes … that I know of."

"Have these two not shut up yet?" The man asked one of the guards, who shook his head no.

"Hey, Big Boss. How much is Pink paying you?" Clint asked; if the man was all business, they might be able to negotiate a deal.

"Not enough for this craziness." The man muttered, cutting his eyes to the woman.

"Whatever it is, I'll double it." Tony offered. For a minute, the man seemed to be considering it. "And you get to walk away alive. Considering what's happened to Baby Spice's last few associates, I'd take the money."

Amanda stalked towards them. She smacked Tony hard in the face; his head jerked back and then forward again, colliding with Clint's.

"Ow!" Clint protested.

"That's enough." She nodded to the guards. "Take Mr. Stark down, please. I need to have a private conversation with him."

"Private conversation," Clint grinned at Tony. "I think that's code for wild monkey sex, don't you?"

"With the way my day is going, it means electrodes and nipple clamps and bruises." A guard unlocked Tony's cuffs while another held a gun on him.

"Okay, wild _kinky_ monkey sex." Clint waited until the guard pulled Tony back and then he lashed out, pulling himself up with his arms. The kick caught one guard in the stomach, throwing him backwards; thrusting his elbow back into the solar plexus, Tony took the second one by surprise as he whirled and punched hard. The other two guards closed in quickly, and Clint spun, twisting the chains, kicking out, foot connecting with a loud crack into one of their knees; the man groaned and fell to the floor. Clint felt the pipe the chain was looped across begin to give, and he jumped up, putting his whole weight on it with a jerk. Metal pulled apart at the joint as another guard swung the butt of his gun at Clint's head; he ducked, sliding the chain down and out between the separated pipes. The heft of the metal links made a good weapon as he pivoted and swung it into the other man's chest.

"ENOUGH." Her voice cut through to Clint, and he jerked his eyes towards her; she held a syringe to Tony's neck as she twisted an arm behind his back. "Stop it. Unless you think a little Benadryl can handle a triple dose."

"Not going to do it. You want me alive." Tony calmly looked at Clint. "At this point, you need us for your plan to work."

"You're half right." With a nod, Amanda pulled the syringe away as a guard pointed a gun at Tony's head. "I do need you. But him? He's a spare. And he's a pain in the ass which is a good enough reason on any day to get rid of him."

Guards grabbed his arms, and he saw the syringe come towards him. He couldn't be sure that his earlier exposure would protect him; that amount in his system would probably stop his heart in seconds. He'd take his chances fighting, but Tony shook his head slightly.

"Wouldn't do that if I was you. Unless you want a very pissed off green giant hunting you down. You might get a head start, but he will find you. And there will be nothing left but a smear and a giant hole in the ground." That was Tony's quiet voice, the one he used when he was serious; smart people knew to listen to him. Amanda, it turned out, wasn't very intelligent.

"You think I'm worried about the Hulk?" She sneered. "He's too busy playing tag in the desert and by the time he's done, I'll have the power of H.Y.D.R.A. behind me. We'll take him down too in time." The needle was close to Clint's neck, and he tensed his muscles, ready to react.

"Then you'll have to go through me now." Steve stood in the doorway, suited up with his shield, in full Captain America mode. The man in the business suit stepped aside, giving way to the tension that rolled through the room and Steve's steely determination; Amanda's face lit up in a parody of a smile, and she lowered the syringe, eyes on Steve.

"Well, finally." Her walk could only be described as a saunter as she headed across the room. "I thought I was going to have to drop a dead body on your doorstep to get your attention. But then, you never did care how many bodies you left behind, did you, Captain?"

"Ma'am, I don't know who the hell you are, but you need to let my team members go." When Steve talked like that, he was in full Captain mode and Clint knew what that meant. This little farce was over, Amanda just didn't know it yet.

"Of course you don't know. You never looked back did you? Wondered what happened to the families of the men you killed." Stomping her foot, the woman was fairly vibrating with indignation. "Johann Schmidt was my grandfather. Once I get my revenge on you, H.Y.D.R.A. will welcome a Schmidt back into its ranks."

"Schmidt was a monster," he said as he moved into the room. "His designs would have killed millions of innocent people."

"He was a genius!" She raved. "No one understands what a visionary he was. That idiot Fabersham profited from the ideas I passed on to him. Soon, the world will know just how important my grandfather was."

"Yeah, dressing like a villain from the Power Rangers makes you look brilliant." That was Tony who was grinning again, a certain cocky look in his eye; between the three of them, this want-to-be villainess was out of her league. And that suddenly bothered Clint.

"Damn! Nadira. You're right. That's who she reminds me of. Bet she likes to shop." Clint laughed and the sound irritated her, he could see by the way her forehead winkled. What the hell was she up to, he wondered.

The roar bounced off the walls moments before a window crashed inward and a familiar green shape came thundering in. Skidding to a halt, the Hulk tossed an unconscious man on the floor; his brown eyes found Clint then took in the whole scene. Huffing, his growl rolled, vibrating up through the concrete; the two men holding Clint looked askance at their boss, fear evident on their faces.

"If that offer is still valid, I think we'll take it now." The man in the business suit said to Tony. "Look, no hard feelings. It was just a job, you know. She's nuttier than a fruitcake, but she paid well."

"Bill me." Tony brushed his shirt free of imaginary dirt as the men backed off. "Never bother us again." With a nod, the man left, nodding for his men to pick up their wounded as they exited, leaving only Amanda with the four Avengers.

"It doesn't matter." She laughed. "I've already won, you know. It's started. You just don't know it." She held out her wrists, the syringe still in her hand. "Take me in, hero. This is only the beginning."

…

"Um, guys," Clint said after Amanda was safely constrained. He held up his chained hands. "I think they took the keys when they left. Anyone want to help here?"

"Not our call. Better ask the Big Guy what he wants." Tony shrugged, but he was grinning.

"Cupid get in trouble too much." There were times Clint could see echoes of Bruce in the Big Guy's eyes, and the glint in those brown depths was certainly similar to the look when Bruce was teasing him.

"Okay, you can keep them for later. But right now, I sort of need my hands," Clint argued.

"Hulk carry. Not heavy."

Tony snickered at that and Clint glared at him.

It was Steve who finally popped the cuffs open, just before S.H.E.I.L.D. operatives came to take Amanda into custody. The whole time she spewed out threats that grew increasingly crazier, shouting by the time they carted her away. Clint knew something was off. Catching her was too easy, and there were too many questions unanswered; that was the norm lately, to find one solution only to realize there was a bigger picture, much more at stake. And if he hadn't been so damn tired, he might have worried about it longer, but all he wanted was to curl up next to Bruce in that big bed and get some sleep. The problem would be there tomorrow, he thought.


	7. The Queen of Hearts is Your Best Bet

"What are you doing?" Steve asked as he saw Tony in the kitchen. "I thought you'd be sleeping by now." Steve had switched the uniform for sweats and a t-shirt, intending to see what was on television while everyone else slept.

"Too wired. Late night snack is in order. Getting kidnapped by Power Ranger wannabes makes me hungry. Want something?" Tony slapped the top on a messy sandwich. Steve eyed the chips sticking to the excess peanut butter hanging over the edge of the white bread.

"Peanut butter, potato chips, honey, and raisins." Tony took a big bite from the corner. "Best ever after a long night of drinking."

Taking the sandwich, Steve put it back on the plate and pushed it away. "Look, I was going to make myself something; there's enough for both of us, turkey and other veggies."

"Um, no, I happen to like that," Tony reached across the counter, but Steve's arms were longer; he boxed Tony in, stepping up to him until their bodies were close, Tony leaning back against the edge and Steve facing him. "I don't need anyone to take care of me?"

"Someone needs to." Steve focused on Tony's lips, and the half-smile playing across them.

"Volunteering, Cap?" Tony licked a little smear of honey off the corner of his mouth, and Steve knew a dare when he saw one.

"It's an impossible job." He felt himself smiling, fully aware how crazy someone would have to be to try to have a relationship with Tony Stark. Bending his head down, his lips brushed the edge of Tony's mouth, the tip of his tongue tasting the sweetness of the honey and salt of the chips; he blazed a trail along the bottom lip, taking his time. Steve felt Tony's hands skim his hips, coming to rest lightly on the waist of his sweats as he deepened the kiss, parting Tony's lips with a brush of his tongue, easing inside. Tongue explored as the heat ratchted up a few more notches between them; Tony moaned, the vibrations rolling into Steve's gut, and he felt powerful with the knowledge that he could make Tony want him.

Pulling back, Steve left Tony breathing hard. "Why don't you find something to watch, and I'll make us some sandwiches."

"Tease." Tony laughed as he walked over to the big couch and picked up the remote. "I like lots of mayo. And chips."

"This is how you get people to do things for you, isn't?" Steve rummaged in the shelves of the fridge and came out with sandwich components. Slicing up a cucumber and tomato, he piled the parts on herbed ciabatta bread; he mixed in some cranberry compote he found in a jar with mayo, slathering it onto the top. "You could just ask you know."

Plates in hand, he turned back to the living room to find Tony, head back on the edge of the couch, eyes closed. He should have expected it; after all, if Tony wasn't talking he was unconscious or asleep. Putting the sandwiches down on the coffee table, Steve sat down next to him.

"You should go to bed and get some rest." He nudged Tony and saw his eyes crack open.

"Nah, this is good." Dropping the remote onto the cushion, Tony stretched out, resting his head on Steve's chest, his dark hair brushing Steve's jaw. "TV won't bother me. I sleep better with noise." He tucked his hand under his cheek and threw his other arm across Steve's waist. "You can eat both of those," he murmured as he drifted off.

For almost twenty minutes, Steve didn't even want to breathe; the warm weight of Tony seeped into his body, and he just enjoyed the feeling. Finally, he gave in to his desire to touch and let his fingers delve into Tony's hair, to stroke down his neck, tracing the curves of his back down to the dip and over the pockets of the jeans Tony wore and back to the small indention where Steve's hand naturally stopped. He shifted, kicking his feet up onto the sofa; Tony mumbled and rolled, tossing a leg between Steve's and sinking back into sleep. At least, Steve thought, he was used to denying his own arousal, pushing it back and keeping it under check, so he lay with Tony's thigh brushing his cock, hand curled around his hip, breath tickling his neck, content to have that much. In Tony's life, holding a sleeping person probably didn't even rank as sexy, but for Steve, he'd stay here all night just to feel this close, to know that Tony was this comfortable around him. He dropped a light kiss on Tony's head and settled in for the evening. Snagging one of the sandwiches, he started flipping through an insane amount of channels until he found a _Thin Man_ marathon; he thought fleetingly of being under the covers of one of those big beds, but he'd slept in far worse situations. And, for the moment, this was good enough.

Bruce surfaced slowly, the light pouring in through the big windows, marred by the duct tape covered bullet holes that cast shadows; he didn't want to wake, body boneless and warm in the sun, dreams still clinging to his thoughts. Tony and Clint had been talking about _Star Wars,_ and somehow Clint had been in his lap but then he was bounding through the desert, crossing vast spans of cool night in seconds. That thought made him open his eyes; Clint's face was pressed into his pillow, mouth opened slightly, sleeping on his side. They were facing each other, Bruce's hand on Clint's hip, Clint's feet tangled with Bruce's; he couldn't help but move his fingers onto Clint's neck to check his pulse, concerned about the effect of last night's attack foremost in his mind. Steady and even, the heartbeat soothed the worry away. Sliding out of the bed, he padded quietly into the bathroom; he'd fallen asleep in his pants, so he kicked them off after he started the water in the marble tiled shower. Once the water was hot, he stepped in and let the spray wash away the last of his sleepiness and ease his aches.

Clint opened the door and slipped in behind him.

"You should be asleep."

"Mmmmm, yeah."

Strong archer hands circled his waist as Clint dropped a light kiss on his neck; fingertips stroked, feather-light, across his abdomen. As he smoothed his hands up Bruce's sides, Clint sighed with contentment. The long caresses swept over muscles and skin, as comforting as they were stirring, claiming the contours of Bruce's body with each brush; as Clint's hand soothed down the spine, over Bruce's ass and then back up again, Bruce shivered despite the warmth building up in the shower.

"You're in a mood this morning."

"Ummmm," Clint's hands came to a halt on Bruce's hips, holding him as wet bodies came together, skin along skin. "Just want to feel you."

"I'm right here." Bruce turned, stepping forward so the water hit his back and catching the sleepy man in his arms; eyes half-closed, Clint tilted in and kissed Bruce, languid and soft. As he drew out the kiss, Clint canted his hips to rub their cocks together, sensitive head grazing sensitive head in a lazy motion. Bruce satisfied himself with cupping Clint's ass and pulling him closer, enjoying the dreamy feeling that enveloped him. Water condensed into a steamy mist around them, the kiss seemed endless, and the heat of the friction pooled in his groin.

When they finally came up for air, Clint gave him a lazy smile. "Come with me?" he asked. He took one of Bruce's hands in his and brought them both around their cocks, interlacing fingers and thumbs. Groaning at the pressure as Clint began an easy slide up and down, Bruce dropped his forehead on Clint's shoulder, riding the wave of pleasure that each movement sent through him.

"Anywhere." He meant more than sex, more than just friendship, more than dating or living together or sharing meals and movies and laughter. This man meant more than all of that, and he knew he couldn't say it, not yet, too afraid of the risk of losing it all

"Let's do this together."

Clint's declaration caused Bruce to moan, and he gasped out, "Yes," as need drove him to jerk his hips in time with their hands, Clint alternating thrusts so that one of them was pushing up as the other was pulling down, ridges catching and tips rubbing along the hard lengths. The liquid heat of the water was still pouring over their bodies, adding to the dream-like quality of the experience; Bruce felt his climax close, his muscles clenching, but he held back to feel Clint ready too, waiting with his own orgasm until Clint groaned and gave a stuttering thrust upwards, both of them coming together.

"Good morning to you too." Bruce lifted his head after he could think again and gave Clint a crooked smile. He reached over for the shower gel, one of those little sizes they had in the hotel, and they took a few minutes to clean up, lathered hands moving over each other.

"So, what do you say we crawl right back into bed, order up some breakfast, and spend the morning being lazy? I'm thinking pancakes … or waffles … no, French toast with blueberry syrup and whipped cream. And a side of bacon. We can get the paper and watch the news on TV, if you want." Clint suggested as he finished rinsing off the last of the soap.

"Sounds good, but I think Tony and I are going back out to FabMet this morning to see the research Amanda was talking about, try to figure out what she was up to." At Clint's nod, he shut off the water and exited the shower, picking up a fluffy thick cotton towel and passing one over. "I want to look over the data they sent us one more time. But breakfast does sound good. Downstairs?"

"As long as we're quiet. I'm hoping to get some good blackmail pics of Tony. He's certainly got enough of us lately." Clint toweled his hair dry; Bruce loved watching Clint's muscles move as he raised his arms and ran his fingers to get his hair into some style approaching respectable.

"I missed something, didn't I?" Surprisingly, he had a pretty clear memory of the other guy's activities last night, even if it was foggy in places. He'd dreamed about it all night long.

"Steve and Tony, that's what's up. Something happened while they were at that strip club." He tossed the towel over a bar and walked back out into the bedroom. "I suspect Nat is going to win the pool."

"You could just leave them alone, end the cycle." Bruce knew that was not going to happen, not with the ongoing friendly rivalry between Clint and Tony. Clint grimaced good-naturedly and shrugged as Bruce pulled on some briefs and a pair of pants, picking up his cell phone to put in his pocket. He had a couple new messages, so he scrolled down. One was from Tony. "Ah. Is this why you're so anxious?" The grainy picture was of Clint and the other guy, kissing; Bruce couldn't remember that exact details, but the other guy certainly did, heaving a sigh of pleasure and nudging Bruce to let him out to do it again. To be honest, the picture didn't upset him. Clint was the first person that both Bruce and the other guy had ever agreed upon, and that mutual attraction sure made things easier.

"Um, yeah, well, I can explain that." Clint hemmed and hawed as he slipped on a worn pair of jeans, choosing to go without briefs as he buttoned up the fly. The jeans had once been black, but were faded now, edges frayed, soft creases from folding; they were snug over his hips. "Look. When I was young – elementary school, I guess – there was this girl in the home, name of MacKensie, but everyone called her Little Mac. She was tough and funny and could kick all the bullies' asses. We used to sneak out after curfew and roam the woods, getting all muddy and playing pretend anything – pirates, spacemen, adventurers."

Bruce let Clint ramble on, knowing he was trying to tell him something and would get to the point in his own time.

"Anyway, one day I hauled off and kissed her. Nothing even approaching a real kiss, mind you, just closed mouth and over in seconds." He laughed at the memory, and his face lit up. "She punched me in the gut. Hard. Then she told me to never talk to her again, that I had ruined everything."

"Sounds about right for that age." Bruce chuckled, and he thought he saw where Clint was going.

"Yeah, what I knew about the birds and the bees … or the birds and the birds, as it would turn out … was just the sort of stuff the older boys boasted about, most of it outright lies. Was totally convinced girls could get pregnant from going into the boy's bathroom." He hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets as he stood. "Point is, that's what I think the Big Guy is like. A crush kind of thing. What he knows about sex is only from what you feel, and he's never shown any interest other than wanting to hug me to death and a few kisses. So, it's different, you know?"

"Clint, I'm not upset that you kissed the other guy." Bruce reassured him.

"I've been meaning to say this for a while now. I know you think you and the Big Guy aren't the same, and I agree with that. But it's not like you're two separate people. The Big Guy knows about you, what you like, what you do – hell, he likes to watch us because he says, and I quote, 'if the little guy is happy, then I get out to play more' – and you're starting to remember more things the Big Guy does. So, I figure, being with you is a package deal. We're only going to work if we're all three in this together."

"Huh," Bruce breathed out, surprised, although he really shouldn't be. Clint was much more perceptive that people realized. It had taken years of therapy and self-examination to come to much the same conclusion about having a relationship, and Bruce had given up finding someone willing to try, that is, of course, until a certain SHIELD agent started watching him in Peru. And he'd known the other guy took an interest in their sex life, had even almost shown up a time or two. "I'd have to say I agree with you on that."

"But here's the thing; the Big Guy is funny and we share a sense of humor and he's not at all the monster people think he is; he's more like a very angry, hurt kid who doesn't know his own strength. I like him a lot." Clint moved right in front of Bruce, looking him squarely in the eyes. "But you, Bruce Banner? You don't have anything to worry about because … " Clint drew in a breath "… I'm in love with you."

Bruce's heart skipped a few beats at the words that hung in the air between them; he'd never imagined Clint just announcing it like this, and right in the middle of a conversation about the other guy and kissing and … without thinking, Bruce caught the belt loops on Clint's jeans and closed the distance between their bodies, planting a fierce possessive kiss onto Clint's lips, urged on by the other guy's dancing for joy in his head.

"Damn," he murmured against Clint's mouth, pushing him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed. "I was worried about saying it."

"Thought I'd rabbit, did you?" Clint cradled Bruce's face in his hands. "I'm not making any promises about the future, you know."

"I can't either." Bruce snuggled their hips together, splaying his fingers across Clint's bare back. "I just know that I love you and want you. Right now, preferably." Clint smiled at that.

"But breakfast and research and Tony …" He laughed as Bruce took him down onto the bed, covering Clint's muscular frame with his own lean one.

"To hell with them. I vote we break in this bed, Cupid, spend the whole day here." He kissed Clint's collarbone and nipped with his teeth, suddenly ravenously hungry to taste Clint's skin, to mark him in some way.

"What about second breakfast?" Clint asked, amusement evident on his face; Bruce's fingers found his nipple and teased, then he sucked Clint's earlobe before he bit it lightly. "Research?" Clint's groan cut off the words as Bruce's knee fit between Clint's legs, rubbing along the denim seam. "I'm trying to be responsible here, damn it." Fingers slid down Clint's chest to slip beneath the soft waistband. "Ah, fuck it. We'll stay here. But remember that was my plan from the start." He dragged Bruce's face to his and returned the favor, claiming Bruce's mouth with a passionate kiss.

"Um, people, some of us are trying to sleep here." Tony grumbled as the voices and the smells drew up out of the deep slumber. Coffee and bacon, if he wasn't mistaken, Bruce and Clint being far too cheerful and Steve talking food with someone. He lifted his head off of the cushion, bleary eyes focusing on the room for a full three or four seconds before he knew where he was. Missing something, he pushed up, the impression of Steve's body still in his mind; he could remember the weight of Steve's hand on his back, the brush of his lips, the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. For the first time in forever, Tony actually felt rested, despite the ungodly amount of sunlight pouring into the room.

"If you'd sleep in your bedroom, it wouldn't be a problem," Clint shot back, his tone far too happy. Silverware clattered as it hit porcelain. "Better hurry or these two calorie machines over here will eat all the French toast. Blueberry stuffed French toast, by the way. With bacon. And fresh Columbian coffee."

"Far be it from me to turn down a fat-laden breakfast." Rolling up, Tony saw a kitchen full – Clint and Bruce were at the counter stools, plates before them. Steve was standing, talking to Robert who was overseeing Miquel, the chef. "Coffee first," he demanded as he stumbled over to the stool next to Bruce. Good god, they had their legs pressed together and Bruce's arm was across the back of Clint's seat, hand brushing him lightly. It was too goddamn early for romantic shit like that.

"Here you go," Steve passed him a steaming mug full of liquid caffeine, and their fingers brushed; okay, maybe it wasn't too early. He sipped the coffee black, letting the kick shoot right to his brain. A full plate soon appeared, and he found himself eating French toast that melted in his mouth.

"You are all too damn chipper in the morning." Tony had to admit that it was nice having someone cook up fresh food for him. Maybe it was time to get a chef for Stark Tower; everyone eating together after a big fight or even pasta night once a week … yeah that could definitely work. They'd been scavenging on their own which too often meant pop tarts or frozen pizza or take out leftovers if they were lucky. "Miquel, want to come to New York? Cook at weird hours for even stranger people? The pay's good."

The chef in question looked over his shoulder at Tony, and then shook his head. "Thanks, but no. My family is here. I like being near them. But I know a couple of guys who might be interested."

"Good. Send me their names, or better yet, arrange to have the cook for us." He saw the look on Steve's face. "What? It's a good idea. Think about omelets the morning after when you're all battered and bruised. It'd be good for morale."

"I spoke to the head of security at FabMet. They're letting us in to talk to the scientists directly." Bruce changed the subject; he was good at that, Tony thought, knowing exactly which topic would capture his interest when his brain strayed too far afield. Made the man a good colleague, enough so that Tony could forgive his lapse in judgment with Clint. Of course, there was absolutely no logic in his attraction to Steve either. He and Bruce were both in the same boat, it seemed.

"Well, they should. The new owner told them full access. I bought the place yesterday." And that little bomb went off just like he had planned, the babble of questions overriding each other as he calmly kept eating. The food really was good.

"When did you do that?" Steve asked in that tone, the one that made Tony's dander rise as well as stirring up something else. Damn, but the man was too handsome by far, and he really was a control freak. For some reason, that turned Tony on.

"Yesterday, after the shooting. Robert Fabersham was only too anxious to sell." Tony shrugged. Honestly, it made the perfect sense; why did people always seem so damn surprised when he did logical things?

"I've been reading the data they sent." Bruce was the only one who seemed to speak his language sometimes and think like he did. "We'd need a specialist in orbital hybridization to go over it, preferably someone with knowledge of nanotech."

"Nanotech?" Clint asked. Tony was only partially listening; he was already mentally scrolling through the scientists he knew and their locations to find the best person to call. "Like little molecular building blocks? Nanites? Nanobots? That's what we're here for?"

"FabTec is a leader in the field of nanotech used as medical diagnostic tools. Introduced into the body, the nanotech can see what's happening on a molecular level, maybe even at the genetic code itself." Bruce explained. "We could use it to see what's going on in Carol's body."

"There'd be so many uses for that. Diseases we don't understand. Finding and targeting cancerous cells." Leave it to Steve to think of the best case scenarios; Tony saw the shades of grey around him and the profit to be made. The name came to him, and he started searching for the number.

"And see the changes in genetic code due to, say, a super serum or gamma radiation? Want to bet the delivery system is topical?" Clint's questions dropped like stone into the conversation. The others stared; damn it all, now Tony was going to have to give Clint some credit. It's not like he didn't know Clint had street smarts and could focus right on the target; it was just that Tony hated to let Clint know he knew. "Guys, do you not watch science fiction? Seriously, how can you not know about the dangers of nanotech? Stargate? Replicators? The Borg? You shall be assimilated."

"And the second serum deconstructed the nanobits, leaving the body to reject them." Tony grabbed his phone and dialed. "Damn it, they could be sending all kinds of data even as we speak."

"Exactly what H.Y.D.R.A. wants to know," Steve said, anger evident in his eyes.

The person he was calling answered after a six rings.

"Hank? It's Tony Stark. I've got a problem here and need your expertise. How soon can you get to the nearest airport?" Tony listened to the excuses for a moment, but he was used to getting his way. "I'll take care of all that _and_ I'll spring for a new machine or two. Trust me, Dr. Pym, you're not going to want to miss this."


	8. Shake the Glitter off your Clothes

"Dr. Pym?" Clint was waiting at the car, watching the scientist climb down the stairs from Tony's private jet. The man was acting very skittish, glancing all around him.

"Oh, um, hi!" Hank jerked and looked at Clint; tall and lanky, the blonde had on a button-down plaid shirt and a pair of khakis, the unofficial uniform of academics, from what Clint could tell. Another science nerd, he though; the guy was only missing a pocket protector, his wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose as he pushed them up, blue eyes blinking. "You're Hawkeye. I recognize you from the news. I mean, yeah, um, I saw you."

"Clint Barton," he introduced himself, offering his hand; Hank hesitated, wiped his palms along his pants leg, and finally took Clint's hand. "Tony wanted me to pick you up and bring you right to the site. He's very anxious to hear what you have to say." Motioning to the car, he opened the door; Hank only had a backpack and laptop case, so he tucked those in the backseat, alongside his bow case.

As they pulled off the tarmac, Clint noticed that Hank's leg was jiggling, fast up and down motions, a sure sign of nervousness. "Thanks for coming so quickly. Tony can be pretty overbearing and likes to get his way."

"Yeah, well, um, I've wanted to meet with Mr. Stark about this ongoing project, but I haven't worked up the nerve to contact him yet. Met him at a conference last fall BBNY … before the Battle of New York … and couldn't even manage to get a word in edgewise. He must have remembered me though."

"He can be overwhelming, I give you that. Did you have a chance to look over the data he sent? That will be the first thing he asks when we get there."

"Oh, yes, the data is amazing. Nanotech swimmers! I thought they were just theoretical, but somehow FabMet solved the immune response problems. That's always been the thorny part. The carbon nanotubes are revolutionary; it's a shame they couldn't transmit longer." Hank came to life when he was talking about science, much more confident. "The applications of this breakthrough could revolutionize medicine in ways we can't even begin to comprehend."

"What do you mean transmit longer?" Clint asked.

"Dead as a doornail after maybe 6 hours, 8 tops. Barely enough time to start the process of gathering data before they go inert." Hank liked to use his hands while he talked, gesturing expansively. "If they were targeted, that might be long enough, but the programming is pretty basic."

"8 hours?" The doctored scotch had arrived early in the afternoon, before those cherry kisses, so the data would have stopped by 2 a.m. at the latest, just about the time when the men attacked the suite. How much information had they received in that span of time?

"I know, not enough. That will have to be fixed." Hank shook his head and got the same look Bruce did sometimes when he was solving problems in his head. "And the secondary biometric solution? Why dissolve the carbon nanotubes? They keep the body from rejecting them. Once they go inert, the body would take care of getting rid of them on its own, so there's really no need to do anything that risky."

"It would induce anaphylactic shock, I imagine." Clint offered.

"That would be … I mean … you could kill someone that way." Hank objected, shocked at the very thought.

"Yeah. That would be the idea. Inject them with the nannites, get the data, then they die from what appears to be natural causes. Fairly ingenious, wouldn't you say?"

"I can't believe someone would corrupt such an important technology, perverting it into a weapon." Clint glanced sideways at Hank; the man honestly believed what he was saying. Lord, save him from do-gooder scientists who want to save the world. That was how A.I.M recruited, looking for guys like Hank. On the other hand, Clint was pretty jaded, having seen some of the darkest parts of human nature; maybe he and Hank would balance each other out in the grand scheme of things.

"Look, I know you're used to more theoretical applications, but here in the real world, bad guys use any means they have to do the most damage possible."

"Oh, I must sound completely naïve to you, but I think we have to use the gifts we've been given to do good in the world and try to hurt no one." Hank's earnestness was evident on his face.

"Sounds good, Dr. Pym. I hope it works out for you." Clint kept driving, looking forward to seeing how Tony was going to handle this new guy.

…

"Hank!" Tony looked up from his screen as Clint and Hank entered. "Good flight? Did you eat some of those little wasabi peanuts? I love those. Always have them on the plane."

Clint could tell that Tony was knee deep in science, so far into it that he was giddy, almost drunk. That was a good sign; they must be making progress. When things were going bad, or just not going at all, Tony could be as touchy as a bear woken from winter hibernation.

Bruce's head came up and he smiled at Clint; equations might be running through his brain, but he turned slightly, opening up space between himself and the lab table. Clint took the invitation and slipped in, leaning back against the edge.

"Um, no, I didn't, I was, um, looking at the data …" Hank began.

"Good. Grab a screen and see what we've got. Bruce is working on the carbon angle, and I'm trying to track the data stream, see where the info was going." As soon as Hank looked at the monitor in front of him, Tony shot a stream of numbers over to him.

"Bruce? Dr. Banner?" Hank turned, eyes wide. "Wow, um, I'm a big fan of your work on exotic nuclear structure."

"Thanks." Bruce said, looking a little bemused by Hank's enthusiasm. Clint bumped Bruce's leg.

"You're a rock star, doc. I keep telling you." He grinned and tousled his hand through Bruce's hair. Leaning down, he whispered into Bruce's ear. "Leather pants and silk shirt. I bet we can find them at The Forum Shops. Want me to run out and get some?"

"No, no, no, we'll have none of that," Tony said, waving his hands to Clint. "No flirting in the lab."

"But I just want to …" Clint was in too good of a mood to let Tony get to him, so he threw out his arms.

"NO SINGING!" Tony laughed, like Clint knew he would. "You are a distraction. Out you go. Leave the big boys to their toys."

"Am I distracting you?" Clint asked Bruce, face all innocence as he ran a hand along Bruce's arm.

"Only in a good way, but yeah. Besides, don't you have some shopping to do?" Bruce smiled; Clint took the chance to brush a light kiss across his lips before he pushed away. Hank was staring at all of them.

"Oh, okay. But before I go …" he paused in the doorway and took a deep breath. "Always look on the bright side of life," he sang, and then whistled the next few bars, ducking out as Tony threw a stylus at him, certain the tune would stick in their head for hours.

…

Steve couldn't put his finger on exactly what was bothering him; Tony and Bruce were working with the new guy, safely ensconced in the lab. Hearing nothing from them, he assumed all was well. Clint had said as much after he brought Dr. Pym from the airport then promptly disappeared somewhere. People were working away, scientists in labs, administrative personnel in their offices; even the technology staff was tasked with finding old emails and looking for security breaches. All appeared to be going well … but Steve's instincts were telling him a completely different story. So far, he'd managed to gain entrance into every room in the main building; now he was heading to the main garage, another adobe affair with four car bays, tucked behind and out of sight from the main parking lot. As he took the path through the small landscaped outdoor area, Clint stepped up beside him, dark shades in place to protect his eyes from the sun, quiver on his back, bow in his hand.

"Got that gut feeling too, huh?" Clint waved the bow in Steve's direction, the implications clear.

"Could just be shadows," Steve argued even though he knew better than to doubt, doubly so now that Clint was having the same premonitions. "But I just don't think we're done with this."

"Too easy." Clint pulled open the door, and they crossed into an open loading bay. "Were we really not supposed to figure out Nadira was being used by H.Y.D.R.A.? And just letting Tony buy the company and have full-access to the files? Sloppy."

A truck sat parked, doors open as two men unloaded boxes marked with the name of a well-known supply company; further back, a non-descript white sedan was up on a rack, company car being worked on by a female mechanic. In all, everything looked normal.

"Maybe it is what it is … Ms. Schmidt was just an incompetent villain?"

Clint's huff of breath told Steve that neither of them believed that.

"Okay, that's scenario A. What about B? Or even C?" Clint mused as he wandered over to the small office at the back.

"Options? If Amanda's plan had worked, you and Tony would be out of commission and H.Y.D.R.A. would have the information to create more super soldiers and hulks." And thought of something happening to Tony or Clint scared Steve more than he wanted to admit. "But they'll have a fallback position."

"Assume that will find out about the nannites. They'll know Tony bought the company…" Clint started.

"… and that we'll come here to investigate. All of us together, in one place …." Steve's head came up. "Do you hear that?"

Clint was already moving, going from standing to a dead run as he hit the door. "Choppers. Incoming. You got a comm up and running? Bruce doesn't." He dialed his phone just as Hank Pym came out the door into the back lawn.

"I made Tony wear his. Tony!" Steve was shouting into his earpiece. "Tony can you hear me?"

"Pick up, damn it Bruce," Clint yelled at the phone. All either man got in return was static.

"What is that?" Hank asked, slack jawed in surprise, pointing up; repelling lines fell and H.Y.D.R.A. soldiers zipped down from the hovering helicopters. "Good god, they have guns." He stumbled back a few steps.

"Get inside; tell Tony & Bruce what's happening. Run!" Steve shouted, pausing just long enough to see Hank tumble back into the building, and then launched himself at the nearest green suited man who had landed on his feet. "Hawkeye, get to the roof," he ordered, but Clint was already gone, clambering up the drainpipe to the top of the garage.

There were a lot of them, three helicopters, and they wore the latest H.Y.D.R.A. armor, carrying advanced laser weapons. Steve caught the first two with fast punches, scooping up a weapon and taking two more out with it; he wished he had his shield, but he made do without it. With so many attacking him, he could use their bodies as cover, ducking behind one as another aimed at him, and a few more fell to friendly fire. Arrows sprouted up in backs and chests, deadly kill shots that let Steve know Clint had found a good perch.

"Get back inside!" Steve shouted to the two men who came out of the garage, the ones who had been unloading the truck. "Close the doors!"

It was over too quickly, he thought, too fast for Tony to get to his suit, but Steve still expected to hear the Hulk's roar behind him and the whoosh as Tony flew by. Instead he heard rotors cutting through the air, followed by the distinctive sound of a missile tearing past him; the crash of glass, metal and concrete, and then the concussion of the blast knocked him down as part of the main building was obliterated. Only seconds later, Clint's arrow hit the 'copter and exploded, ripping through the gas tank to send it careening crashing to the ground in a ball of fire.

Steve turned to look at the gaping hole ripped into the building, second and third floors collapsed down onto the first, jagged edges of concrete and twisted steel visible. He tried to visualize where Tony had been, but all he could think of was the faces of the people he'd seen, just met, as he'd done his earlier sweep. A secretary who offered him homemade muffins, a break room with a Christmas tree already up, a white coated scientist listening to big band music. He prayed that most of the damage was to storage rooms, conference rooms, empty offices, and rooms with nothing but rows of computers.

"Holy hell," Clint stopped beside him. "Hold this, I'm going to in to get them. If Bruce hasn't changed yet, something's wrong." He held out his bow to Steve, already moving forward; his emotions were clearly painted on his usually stoic face. Steve wanted nothing more than to join Clint, running into the burning building to find Tony and drag him to safety. He almost gave in to the memory then – Bucky over his shoulder as he made it out that exploding factory – but he shoved it all back. There weren't out of the woods yet, by any means.

"No."

Clint hesitated and turned back to look at him.

"I need you back on that roof. This isn't over. They'll send reinforcements to finish it. We can't help people if we get ourselves killed when that building collapses." He made his voice hard, putting all of his command in it.

"Damn it, Bruce is in there." Clint argued, passionate and angry. Steve understood; he felt the same way, but they had a job to do, and sometimes that meant hard choices.

"There are civilians in that building and more H.Y.D.R.A. soldiers on the way. We have to trust our team members to handle it themselves.."

Clint closed his eyes for a second. "All right, Cap. Back on the roof it is."

"Wait, wait." Hank Pym's voice sounded very small and distant. Steve's eyes scanned the area, but he couldn't see the scientist. Then he appeared, rising up from the ground, no, growing from small to big. He was covered in a form-fitting black suit, and he wavered in height, taller then shorter then taller again, before he settled back into his original form. "Sorry. Long story. This was the only way I could get out. Tony and Bruce are trapped; the walls collapsed on them. Dr. Banner is unconscious, which Tony says it good, and Tony's foot is caught under some debris. I'm supposed to find his suitcase and bring it back to him. He said, and I quote,'Go Lassie, tell Timmy we're stuck in the well'."

Well, Steve had seen strange things since he woke up in the 21st Century … and a lot before that … so what difference did a man who could change his size make in the grand scheme of things? If it meant getting Tony and Bruce's help, he'd go with it.

"It's in the trunk of the car." Clint tossed the keys to Hank, barely even blinking at the man's appearance. "Silver case. Do not try to open it."

"I know, Tony's already warned me." With a crooked smile, he sprinted around the building, long legs eating up the ground as he ran on bare feet.

"Guess his shoes can't change with him," Clint muttered.

The ominous sound of approaching rotors reached Steve's ears. "Time for round two."

…

Broken concrete rested against Tony, weight holding his foot in place; in the glow of the arc reactor, he could see that Bruce had blood drying on his temple, his eyes still closed. Considering the tight space, walls fallen around them, Tony thought it was probably better Bruce was out. He'd read Bruce's files, even the ones SHIELD didn't what him to know about; the little boy locked in a closet, watching his father hit his mother through a crack in the door, hearing the sounds of violence in that dark space. The minute he woke up, Bruce was sure to change, and Tony needed to get a few things worked out first.

Dust rained down on him as the building shook from an external explosion. He was cut off, unable to see what was happening; every gadget and piece of technology was down, even the comm unit Steve had insisted he put in his ear before they left. A fight was going on and he was useless, trapped here. Trying again, he shifted his weight, pulling his leg; the block on top of him moved slightly, sagging down towards his head.

"Tony." Pym grew larger beside him, and Tony saw a familiar silver case get bigger. "Here it is."

"You and I are going to have to talk about these particles. How did you get the case to change too? Imagine the uses of miniaturization for shipping and transport alone." Tony said, hand on the case, popping it open. "But later. Right now, I need to know what's going on outside."

"Oh, there are some men with guns – they came in helicopters – and the building was hit somehow, a big gaping hole in the side of it. Captain Rogers and Clint were arguing about coming in to find you, but then more helicopters were coming, so I grabbed it and came back."

As the case unfolded, Tony slipped one gauntlet on and then the other; with their strength, he could lift the block and slide out, easy, making sure to balance the slabs back evenly so nothing else fell. "We've got to get out of here. You coming, Hank? You've already got a suit." Light flared as the red and gold metal came to life, unfurling and wrapping itself around Tony's kneeling form; the space flared with light as the face mask clicked into place, and Tony heard the familiar voice of Jarvis in his ear.

"Coming online, sir. There is some sort of dampener at work in the area; however, I've been able to compensate through the onboard computer."

"Good work, Jarvis. I'm going to need external visual. Bring the satellites online for the area."

"Me? No, I don't, I mean, I can't fight. I couldn't do it. Guns and people getting hurt? No." Pym recoiled from the suggestion.

"Don't have to fight to help. See if you can find the people trapped, tell them we're coming for them, and direct the rescue efforts." Tony suggested.

"I can do that," Hank said, voice more sure and strong. "Um, it's pretty much just debris above, if you straight up. I'll get started finding the others." With that, he shrank again and disappeared through one of the cracks; Tony seriously had to find out how he did that, but right now having Pym on rescue was one less thing for Tony to worry about.

"Jarvis, Bruce's vitals?" Steady heartbeat and nothing broken. "Bruce? Wakey wakey! Time to let the green guy out to play."

Bruce groaned and moved just as another loud explosion rattled the pile of debris, this one close. "Tony?" His eyes opened, focusing after a few moments, blinking to clear his vision. "What the hell?"

"We need the Big Guy. H.Y.D.R.A.'s attacking. Clint and Steve are out there by themselves. Think you can …" Bruce was changing before Tony could complete his sentence, a quick and easy transition from one minute to the next. "Up and out, Big Guy. We don't want to bring this place down on anyone else who might be trapped."

"Hulk smash?" He gave a feral grin as he tensed to spring.

"Once we're out of here, you can smash as many H.Y.D.R.A. agents as you want. And there are helicopters." Tony knew how much the Hulk loved to take down helicopters.

…

Clint was busy; three men had dropped straight onto the roof; he pushed one off the edge with the new kick Natasha had shown him last month. Two more helicopters remained, one a gunship that needed to be taken down, but he couldn't get a bead on it with two men bearing down on him. Steve was vulnerable, down on the ground, fighting alongside two brave security guards; if that big gun started firing, they wouldn't stand a chance.

The roar started low then grew louder than the crashing of concrete and metal; Clint knew without turning his head that the Hulk was in play. As he got a clear shot at one of the fighters, he took them out and saw a familiar green figure that landed on top of the last man.

"Hulk take out whirly bird!" He was giddy with the prospect, and Clint felt his unspoken worry drop away.

"Go for it, Jade Jaws. Get the big one first. I'll help Cap."

With a leap, the Hulk jumped straight for the gunship, one big fist grabbing the landing skid, weight dragging the machine out of kilter as the other hand pulled the gun off its base. Turning, Clint drew the string back on his bow in time to see Iron Man send a repulsor blast at the second 'copter. This was going to be over in minutes, he thought, and he started shooting.


	9. Every Hand's a Winner

"Full house. Kings over eights," Steve brandished his cards, smiling as he laid them on the table. "That means you lose, Tony."

"Okay, that cinches it. You're all in on it. That's the only explanation." With a grin, Tony stood up and popped the button on his jeans, unzipping and sliding them down to the patio tile; all he had left was his silky red boxers. The glow of the arc reactor cast a blue light over the whole table in the twilight of the evening; the sun was beginning to set, shadows floating their way across the pool.

"I've played with USO girls and soldiers." Steve laughed, still fully dressed, but his eyes were focused on the skin Tony was showing. "The showgirls were real card sharks. I learned how to cheat from them."

"And Bruce? What's your excuse?" Tony demanded. Bruce had only lost his shoes and socks so far in the game.

The man shrugged good-naturedly, the pina coladas he'd been drinking mellowing him – or maybe it was Clint sitting next to him, wearing only his black boxers that had him in such a good mood. "It's really all numbers and percentages … maybe I'm just better at it than you are."

"It's the damn pain pill. My brain is fuzzy from the meds." He waved vaguely at his ankle, wrapped in a tight ace bandage and propped on a pillow. "Otherwise, I'd be trouncing all of you."

"I still can't believe you didn't notice how bad you'd twisted your ankle." Steve shook his head, his eyes wandering to Tony's bare chest. "Must have hurt like the dickens."

"Adrenaline. And the suit tends to compensate." Tony shuffled the deck of cards handily. "Still, I smell a conspiracy here. Clint, I expect it from you, but Cap? Just want to get me naked?"

"Tony, you don't need an excuse to get naked," Clint argued. Tony knew that the man had made a lot of fine whiskey disappear, but he couldn't see any evidence of the effects. "Deal the damn cards."

Tony spun cards across the table. "Had time to plan it all during that damn debriefing, did you?"

"Been meaning to ask how you got Pym out of there without Fury seeing him. The guy was freaking out over the idea of answering SHIELD questions," Clint asked, peaking at his hold cards.

"For good reason. He lost his wife a few years ago; a political kidnapping in Eastern Europe. Can't blame him for not trusting jack-booted thugs, even if they claim to be the good guys," Tony said. "But don't worry; I've already got an offer on line for him at NYU. Might be useful to have him close."

As he leaned to toss the last card to Clint, he saw Bruce's hand on the inside of Clint's thigh, fingers drawing patterns on the sensitive flesh, and damn if Clint wasn't clearly aroused. Tony pretended not to notice; he certainly did need any more stimulation, already working on a lovely medical high and the feel of Steve's eyes upon him. There was something completely hedonistic about sitting here on a balmy Nevada night, playing strip poker with Steve, Bruce and Clint, tension palpable around them.

"I'll take two." Bruce drawled slowly as a slow smile spread across his face, aimed in Clint's direction. Tony was surprised at just how besotted Bruce was acting today; even the Big Guy had been very loving to Clint after the battle, rubbing and touching the archer at every possible chance.

"Two for me." Steve threw his discards into the pile. Under the table, Tony saw Bruce's fingers slip even higher.

"I think I'll fold." Clint tossed his cards on the table, and he leaned over to Bruce, whispering something in the scientist's ear.

"You know, that sounds like a good idea." Bruce's cards followed Clint's and they stood hurriedly, knees bumping the table; there was no mistaking the reason for their haste. "Um, yeah," Bruce shrugged at Steve and Tony before he followed Clint up the stairs, the pair constantly touching, whispering, laughing, and stealing kisses.

"Well, that should have been awkward, but it was somehow strangely arousing," Tony quipped as he finished off the whiskey in his glass; Steve seemed amused by the couple's behavior.

"Should you be drinking and taking those pain meds at the same time?" That was the worried Steve voice; Tony kind of liked it, especially when mixed with the look of interest in the blue eyes.

"Only if I'm going to fly. Never drink and Iron Man." Steve didn't look convinced. "Look, it just makes the effects more pronounced and, seeing as I'm not going any further than the suite, there's no problem." He put his cards down and started to pull himself up from his chair, but it was harder than he thought; the blood rushed down to his ankle and the throbbing started again.

"Here," Steve caught his arm and helped him up. "Where do you want to go?"

And that was a damn good question. What he wanted was to take Steve to bed, just as Bruce was doing with Clint right this very minute. Instead, Tony's charm seemed to desert him. Aw, hell, he thought, what was wrong with him?

"To bed. Preferably with you rather than alone." He blurted out. Smooth, Stark. Really smooth.

"You're under the influence, Tony." Steve's eyes darkened, but he focused on helping Tony negotiate his way around the furniture and into his room.

"I certainly hope so! Been working on it all evening. Shame to waste a really good buzz." By the time they got to the bed, Tony was ready to sit down and prop his foot back up. No one could say he was a model patient; Pepper said he'd call a specialist for a hangnail. Mostly, he just liked to be fussed over, so he let Steve put pillows behind his back and make him comfortable.

"Tony." Steve reached him the remote, shaking his head.

"Now get your ass over here, soldier." Tony gave a mock order as he patted the bed beside him.

"You'll regret it later; you shouldn't make decisions when you're like this." Steve hesitated, on the verge of backing out.

"If you're worried that I only want to jump your bones because I'm high, I'll remind you of exhibit A, my tongue down your throat while I was grinding on your leg like a teenager last night," Tony said, adding an eyebrow wiggle for emphasis.

"You were drunk then too." Steve crossed his arms and stared at him.

"Hell, Steve, I'm always like this. It's the only way to get through this shit." Talking was the last thing Tony wanted to be doing, not when he was liable to say things that would get him in trouble. He didn't have heart-to-heart chats; that wasn't the Stark way. "If you're waiting on me to get sober, you're going to be pretty damn frustrated."

For a moment, Tony thought Steve was going to walk away. But then he sighed and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing the plain tee onto a chair; sitting on the bed, he carefully leaned towards Tony.

"This is a monumentally bad idea, you know."

"Good thing those are specialty then." Tony closed the distance and kissed Steve; lips warm and soft, determined and sure, Steve pressed back, easing Tony's lips apart, tongue tickling the underside of his mustache before slipping inside. Fingers trailed down Tony's chest, he almost jolted off the bed when Steve circled the rim of the arc reactor, a groan rippling through their fused mouths.

"Like that, do you?" Steve pulled back and asked, tracing the circuit with his fingers again before bending down to follow with his tongue. What felt like an electrical charge ran straight to Tony's groin causing his cock to get even harder and it had already been achingly aroused.

"Fuck." That was the only word he could come up with. Each lick of Steve's tongue, each breath, Tony felt in the pit of his stomach; he'd done a lot of things in his life, hell, he'd invented some of them, but this was beyond erotic. People usually either avoided looking at his chest or they were so careful, afraid of hurting him. But Steve treated the arc reactor like the ultimate erogenous zone, knowing just how much it would turn Tony on.

Needing to touch, Tony's hands worked their way along the ripples of Steve's chest, the lines of the muscles, over broad shoulders until his fingers could delve into the blonde hair, messing it up, separating the strands. When Steve sucked the skin into his mouth, teeth nipping against the metal, Tony's fingers convulsively closed as he groaned.

"I think I could make you come just from this alone," Steve murmured against Tony's skin, and he was probably right; Tony felt like he was about to explode off the bed, pre-come already leaking. "Maybe later, though. Going to show you what an old soldier like me knows how to do."

With a final kiss on the metal edge, Steve moved, following the dusting of dark hair with his mouth down to the edge of the red silk; then his mouth covered the head of Tony's cock, wetting the material as he slid down the hard length to the root. Careful to balance himself so he put none of his weight on Tony's leg, Steve ran his tongue back up and then down again, teasing through the silk.

"Take it off," Tony moaned. "Want your mouth, want it now."

Pulling down the boxer's, Steve eased them over Tony's ankles, and then stopped to look; Tony was pretty damn comfortable with his own nakedness but he felt a second of doubt.

"Fuck, Tony," he muttered, eyes blown wide with lust. "Hope you taste as good as you look."

His tongue swiped the pre-come out of the cleft, and Tony's lifted his hips to meet Steve's mouth. Parting and slicking down, Steve's lips sucked in Tony's hypersensitive head, tongue swirling around the edge. Tony stared, fascinated by the sight of his cock disappearing into Steve's mouth. Up and down, moist wet heat engulfed him; when Steve's hand grazed Tony's chest, circling the metal rim, there was no way Tony was going to hold out. Muscles tensed, his hands clutched at Steve's head, and then he was coming into Steve's mouth, feeling him swallowing, teasing out every last drop until Tony rode out the last few tremors.

"God damn," Tony breathed; between the medicine, the whiskey, and an amazing release, the world was spinning, and he damn well liked it.

"Don't use the Lord's name in vain." Steve admonished, and the juxtaposition of his swollen red lips with the prim sounding warning made Tony grin.

"Fuck is okay, though?" He dragged his thumb across those lips, catching a few drops of pearly liquid at the corner; he popped the finger in his mouth, and Steve's breathing hitched at the sight. "Because, fuck, Steve, you need to get those sweats off and get your ass up here so I can suck you off right now."

"Tony." His name came out strangled as Steve bowed his head at the words.

"Pants. Off. Now, soldier." Tony could see the effect his words were having; so, Captain America liked dirty pillow talk? Tony could do that, watching as Steve stood and shucked off his sweats and briefs; his cock was hard and leaking, and Tony couldn't wait to get his mouth around it.

"Knees," Tony patted the bed on either side of his hips, and Steve complied, straddling Tony, bracing his hands on the wall behind the headboard. "Going to start with my tongue, lick every bit of that wetness, trace the whole fucking long length of you before I take you deep in my throat. Then I'm going to hold that magnificent ass in my hands and make you come; we'll leave begging until next time." He gave Steve his sexiest grin.

"You have a filthy mouth." Steve was shaking, sweating; he held his breath as Tony hands spanned his thighs, pausing just in front of Steve's engorged head.

"The better to fuck you with." Tony's tongue lapped up the liquid, delving into the cleft before moving on, circling and swirling the entire length until Steve let his head fall against the wall, body curved forward. Only when Steve was straining forward with each new touch did Tony finally part his lips around the girth, move his hands into the toned dips on Steve's absolutely taut ass, and swallow him whole, the tip of Steve's cock bumping the back of Tony's throat.

"I need, oh, Tony, yes …" Steve's voice was wrecked. Fingers carded through Tony's hair, clasping tight; he knew exactly what Steve needed. Stilling, he let Steve begin to thrust, jerky at first, then smoother as he caught a rhythm. Every sound Steve made - the little grunts mixed with yes and oh and the occasional fuck and, best of all, that almost astonished repetition of Tony's name - made Tony want to take him even deeper. Feeling Steve shiver and tense, Tony sucked Steve's cock in one more time, swirling his tongue on that spot just beneath the head; Steve shouted then and came, his organism rolling through his body, muscles rippling as Tony swallowed as much as he could without taking a breath. For long moments, Steve could only groan, dragging in air, as he came back down; still aware enough to avoid bumping Tony's leg, he collapsed onto the bed next. Tony wasn't shy or secretive about surveying the amazing body lying beside him; Michelangelo would have used Steve as a model, each line was so clear and defined. That damned voice of self-doubt niggled in his head – and it sounded suspiciously like his father's voice - what would a man like Steve Rogers want with a drunken screw up like him?

"See something you like?" Steve broke into to Tony's thoughts, and there was a lightness in his voice; he sounded so young and breathless, a man replete with sexual satisfaction. That … giddiness … shattered the moment of doubt.

"One of the perks of sex. Getting to look your fill." Tony shifted up to a better position on the pillows. "And just basically doing everything naked." Steve's head sagged down onto Tony's shoulder, and the warmth seeped in; he wanted stay here, Tony realized, fall asleep and wake with Steve wrapped around him, naked bodied entwined and ready for slow morning sex. But his brain immediately began supplying all the reasons why that intimacy wasn't a good idea, scrolling through the permutations and possibilities of this going wrong.

"You hungry? I'm hungry. I'm thinking sushi … maybe Chinese? Or Japanese?" His mouth went into autopilot, words forming before he even thought about what he was going to say.

"I can always eat. Quick recovery needs fuel." Steve smiled indulgently, going with Tony's sudden urge for anything to talk about, anything but their nakedness and doing this again sometime real soon. He got out of bed, and Tony noticed that Steve was already hard again.

"You're kidding me. What? A couple minutes?" Tony grabbed a pillow and aimed at Steve. "I hate you."

"You're going to love it when I fuck you multiple times in a row." Scooping his sweats up from the floor, Steve ducked into the bathroom before Tony could launch the missile.

"Smart ass. For that, you get to order the food." Picking up the remote, Tony started flipping through the channels, attention already diverted to finding something to watch while they ate. He stopped and went back, catching a phrase in passing.

"I'll see what Robert suggests, but I'm getting more than raw fish." Steve had tried sushi, but still wasn't a big fan.

"Hey, didn't Clint say something about replicators?"

Steve paused at the door. "One of those science fiction shows he mentioned, yeah."

"I think it's on." Tony snagged his phone from the bureau and keyed in a message.

"What are you doing?" Steve said in familiar long-suffering voice of someone used to Tony's mood swings.

"Just be sure to order enough for four. There's a marathon on."

….

Clint braced his hands in Bruce's hair, holding on as he thrust deep into Bruce's mouth, groaning at the wet heat. From the moment they'd shut the door, Bruce had started to systematically take Clint apart, piece by piece, kiss by kiss, tongue teasing, teeth nipping every inch of his body until he couldn't take much more. Pressed against the wall, Bruce on his knees before him, Clint could no longer think straight, couldn't think about anything except the feel of Bruce's lips sliding along his cock, the way his tongue swirled against him; nothing remained but the two of them and the growing climax tightening in Clint's body, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

"God, Bruce," he couldn't even get twords out, ability to form sentences gone with the rising tension in his body. With a final tug, Bruce slid his mouth off and used his hand to bring Clint to the end, watching intently with those expressive brown eyes as Clint's head fell back and he stuttered slightly just before he exploded, coming with gasps, climax so violent he shotall over Bruce's chest and even his face. In his haze, Clint looked down, saw the ropey white strands on Bruce, and something snapped inside his chest; he felt a second wave hit him, and this time Bruce swallowed him down, taking it all. With trembling hands, Clint wiped the messy stuff from Bruce's cheek with his thumb; before he could do more, Bruce caught the finger and popped it into his mouth, tongue curling around the pad, sucking it.

"Fuck," Clint moaned, the sight of Bruce's lips around his thumb so sensuous, he couldn't do more that watch.

"Have I told you how much I love your hands," Bruce began; as Clint's hand wiped more of the cum off, Bruce tugged each finger back into his mouth to be licked and suckled. "Your fingers drive me absolutely, fucking crazy. I fantasize about them all the time, sliding inside me, opening me up, curled around me, jacking me off. I want to watch you, you know. Touch yourself. Pull and push until you come all over those hands so I can lick them and you clean."

His legs felt boneless, and he started to slide down the wall, muscles relaxed by his release and brain reeling from Bruce's words. "Anytime. Just tell me when," he gasped. "What you do to me, Bruce. I'm pretty much a puddle here. Roll me into bed and I might start breathing again."

"Not yet," Bruce laughed. "I am nowhere near done with you for the evening." He caught Clint as he sagged, pulling him over to the wall of windows and turning him to face the lights. "Put your hands on the glass."

"As you wish." Clint did as he was told, consumed with a mixture of pleasure, love and lust. Spreading Clint's legs apart, Bruce grabbed the lube from the nightstand and squeezed some into the small of Clint's back.

"That's cold and someone could see us. We're right in the window, Bruce." He protested, but Bruce only laughed, dragging fingers through the messy stuff then circling and pushing one finger in, slowly.

"Good. I want them to see me take you like this, make you mine. I'm going to fuck you until you scream my name and beg for more." Bruce's voice sent shivers down Clint's spine, and he could hear himself moan.

"More. Come on, Bruce, you know what I like."

Bruce pressed a second finger in and Clint felt himself stretching to accommodate it, heard Bruce's ragged breathing; he wanted to feel Bruce inside him, so he jerked his hips back into Bruce's fingers.

"Damn, Clint," Bruce groaned. "Can't wait."

"Then don't," Clint said. "I'm begging here." Clint felt Bruce's hands on his back for a moment, then hands clamped onto his hips. Bruce pushed in, slick, a slow burn; still replete from his own earlier orgasm, his body was relaxed and open for the invasion.

"Fuck, Clint, you're so ready." Bruce breathed into his ear, pausing once he was fully seated inside Clint; stretched and heavy, Clint focused on the sensation, the completeness of Bruce so deep and intimate. He wanted to move, needed Bruce to pull back and then enter him again, to start that primal dance of coming and going, of joining and falling apart, but he also wanted to stay like this.

He whispered his lover's name as his head tilted back until their lips could meet and their tongues could brush along each other. Hand snaking around Clint's chest, Bruce bent him back until he felt like his own bow, strung tight and vibrating with need.

"Mine," Bruce growled, low and harsh, the echo of the Big Guy rumbling in the single word; biting his lip, Clint could feel Bruce start to grow, the amount of control astounding as Bruce let the change start and then held it at bay, his new size pushing Clint apart even further, past anything he'd ever felt. "Well, more like …. Ours," Bruce corrected, and then he started to move, easy pushes at first to make sure Clint could handle it.

"Holy shit, that's… oh, Jesus, Bruce, so big, so much. Please. Fuck me harder, Big Guy." Clint groaned, and Bruce did, speed increasing with each new thrust, hand on his chest circling to Clint's back and pushing him forward. Elbows hit the glass as Bruce's fingers curled into his hip bones, holding him tight. His moans filled the room; the glass was cool under his arms, turning into a mirror as night fell on the city outside. Clint could see them reflected there, his eyes glazed with passion, sweat covering his skin, and Bruce, patches of green, his face intense with his approaching orgasm. Their eyes meet in the window – green tinges in brown, blue-green dark and stormy –all three of them, both Bruce and the Big Guy inside Clint at the same time, together. Then Bruce shifted slightly and found just the right angle to send a burst of stars behind Clint's eyes, pleasure so great that Clint's exhausted cock stirred a little, and the moment passed as Bruce's fingers dug in and he thrust one last time before he came, Clint's name on his lips. In the aftermath, before Clint could find a suitable reply, some perfectly witty way to not blurt out how much he fucking loved Bruce and how he wanted Bruce to do that to him again and again and again, Bruce pulled out and turned Clint around, catching him in a tender series of little kisses.

"Hey." Bruce managed when he finally came up for air. "Hey." All signs of the Hulk were gone now.

"Hey right back at you." Clint grinned at the completely inane conversation and dropped his forehead into the crook of Bruce's neck. "Going to just stay right here."

"We need to clean up," Bruce smacked Clint's ass, none too lightly. "I've seen you keep going after days with no sleep. Bone deep satisfaction is no excuse." He turned and headed into the bathroom; Clint trailed along after him.

"Yeah, well, I vote that half-Hulk sex gets me some perks like breakfast in bed or at least a late night snack," Clint said. Bruce got that look in his eyes, the one that meant he was about to apologize yet again for some truly monumental sex, so Clint sidetracked him. "I didn't know you could do that, partially change."

"The Other Guy, well, he was, um, pretty happy today." Bruce tossed Clint a clean towel. "Not so much with the metal head, though. Anyway, he was pretty insistent about being there, tonight, making sure you felt good."

"I did promise him a surprise. The Big Guy loved taking down that helicopter, and he was pretty pissed that Tony got to the second one before he did. Metal Head. I love it." It was amazing really, this new, more symbiotic relationship between Bruce and the Big Guy; as usual, Bruce was overthinking it all, so Clint caught him in a quick kiss, adding an ass grab in the bargain, and Bruce chuckled.

"Still, we should talk about …" Bruce began.

"Package deal, remember?" Clint crumpled up the towel and tossed it on the floor with a wink. "It's a package deal, doc."

As he headed back into the bedroom, his phone vibrated; Bruce raised an eyebrow in question.

_Replicator chan 372?_

"It's from Tony," he grabbed the remote and turned the TV to the channel. He sent a message back.

_SG1. Gud show._

"What is he up to?" Bruce asked.

_Sushi Jap Chi 4 4. Marthn. Dwnstrs_

"Are you hungry?" Clint passed the phone to Bruce. "They're ordering enough for all of us."

"He can't complain that we smell of sex," Bruce replied calmly. "Tell him to order extra. The Other Guy's worked up an appetite."

_BRDwn. BG hungry. Order xtra. Which ep next?_

_Window Opp. _

_Best 1 evar. U'll luv it. _


	10. Waking Up in Vegas

The aroma of coffee coaxed his eyes opened, leaving behind a topsy-turvy dream where Jack O'Neill was drinking with Tony while he and Bruce sang a karaoke duet of "You Don't Send Me Flowers." Light streamed over the couch, reflecting off the tile floor, far too bright for so earlier in the morning … no strike that, it was probably later, given the sun's position … but he still blinked a few times before the room came into focus. Brown curls tickled his nose, a heavy weight warming his chest where Bruce slept, sprawled on his stomach. The thin pillow under Clint's head didn't make the arm of the white sectional any softer; his neck ached from the angle, but the slow even breathing of the man tangled on top of him was worth it. One hand was on Bruce's back, his other hanging down on the floor; he gently tucked the lock of hair that had fallen in his face behind Bruce's ear. Stirring, Bruce eased his lids open as he exhaled and then tilted up to look at Clint.

"Hey," he murmured, sleepy-voiced.

"Hey," Clint traced the side of Bruce's face and brushed a kiss on his forehead. "Good morning."

There was only so much stretching either man could do on the narrow cushions, but Bruce pushed his weight up onto his arms, face hovering above Clint's then dropping in for a lazy kiss.

"You can't be comfortable like that," he said when their lips parted.

"You'd be surprised," Clint's fingers closed around Bruce's neck and pulled him back for another slow exploration of mouths.

A cough sounded, loud enough to catch their attention. Wide awake with a cup of coffee in his hand, Steve sat on the other side of the couch, his feet propped up on the ottoman; Tony was stretched on his back, legs askew, his head comfortably lying on Steve's lap. Clint didn't stop stroking Bruce's jaw, but they broke off the kiss, smiling at each other.

"Oh, season six. Not the same without Daniel." Squinting, Clint turned his head to see the large TV over the fireplace.

"It's a very good show. Kept me quite entertained," Steve offered; his hand was resting lightly on the arc reactor in Tony's chest, Clint noticed. For his part, Tony was snoring softly. "I am entirely entranced by the notion of Jack and Sam finding their way to each other."

"You and everyone else," Clint chuckled.

"Did you sleep at all?" Bruce asked Steve as he sat up, untangling his legs from Clint who immediately missed the warmth, but the cups of coffee that appeared in front of them made up for it, sort of. He swung his body upright, rolling his head to work the crick out of his neck as he reached for the dark brew; the smell began clearing the fog as he inhaled, and the first hit of caffeinated liquid rolling down his throat finished waking him up. A platter of very tempting pastries was placed on the large upholstered ottoman that served as a table.

"Fresh from Jean Philippe this morning," Robert said, placing plates and napkins down as well.

"Oh, lord, I'm going to have to take up running or some shit if I keep eating like this," Clint complained as he took a cinnamon roll dripping with icing as his first choice. "Hanging out with the two metabolism busters here, I forget about that whole 'exercise to burn calories' thing. Damn." The last was a followed by what could only be called a moan as he bit into the exquisite treat.

Bruce picked up an almond crescent and tasted; he rumbled his approval, sounding suspiciously like the Big Guy as he finished it off in just a few bites, immediately picking up a chocolate croissant. Steve went for a warm tart; as he reached over, Tony grumbled and rolled onto his side, his eyes nothing more than slits as he surveyed the activity.

"Why the hell can't a guy get some sleep around here?" He curled his knees up and let his eyes drift closed, but they opened again as Robert topped off the cups. He perused the platter. "And you're always eating. Is that brioche strawberry or raspberry?"

"Strawberry rhubarb with a touch of cinnamon," Robert answered, putting it on a plate and sitting it near Tony, accompanied by a steaming cup.

With a dramatic groan, Tony pushed himself up, making a production out of stretching and generally trying to be the center of attention; everyone ignored him. Clint thought about seconds, but he really did have to watch it; working out was something he did because he had to, not because he particularly enjoyed it, and he was going to have to ramp things up now that he wasn't on SHIELD rotation anymore. No one would be watching or noting his condition training; he would have to do it himself. But, darn it, that cheese Danish was calling his name. Ah, hell, he'd been meaning to add some new disciplines anyway; he scooped it up before Steve went for his second. Biting his lip to keep from smiling when Bruce started on a third, he knew Bruce caught the aborted look; the man started to stop, and then just shrugged good-naturedly as he ate the cranberry scone.

"As much as I have enjoyed this little getaway," Bruce began, noting with irony the fact that their vacation had been anything but, "I'd like to be in the lab working on the FabMet data. There's a lot to be done there."

Clint could see Bruce's mind shifting into scientist mode, the numbers running through his eyes as he began to spin theories and posit possible outcomes. To be honest, he was surprised Bruce had held out this long; after yesterday's debriefing, he'd fully expected Bruce to suggest they head straight for the jet to Stark Tower. Not that he was complaining at all – damn good sex was always welcome – but he knew how Bruce ticked. Give him a problem and he had to solve it; present the Big Guy with a helicopter and he had to take it down. There were definitely similarities there, he thought; he made sure Bruce was watching before he licked his fingers of the sticky icing.

"The whole thing still bothers me." Steve put his cup on the end table. "They had plenty of time to wipe those computers. Why leave us the data? It's almost like they wanted us to have it."

"Are you back on that hobby horse? Sometimes the obvious is the answer," Tony argued back, rubbing his temples with one hand while holding onto his coffee like a lifeline. Morning after headache, clearly, from mixing medication and alcohol. "Wanna-be power ranger was on her own; H.Y.D.R.A. only stepped in to clean up the mess after she failed. Even they thought knew she was a nut job. Who knew they actually had hiring standards?"

"It's never that easy, Tony; H.Y.D.R.A. always has plans within plans. I want to investigate further. There are too many unanswered questions."

Clint watched the by-play as he finished his coffee; looked like the age-old romantic conundrum was finally answered. Sex didn't relieve the tension between the two; they were still as much at odds as they were before. Of course, angry sex or make-up sex might help. He'd better take a wait-and-see approach.

"Whatever. Go off on your own little crusade, and let us get back to solving the problem. Bruce and I are going back today. You want to stay and play house with Clint, that's fine by me." Tony could be a real bastard when he wanted to be, damn nonchalant tone that was anything but, and when he was hung over, he was even worse; Steve should know that, and he'd better learn to deal with it or this thing wouldn't last. Instead of interrupting, Clint put his hand on Bruce's thigh, an unspoken agreement to stay out of it flashing between them.

"Hell, Tony, that's an asinine thing to suggest." Steve's body was tense now, sitting upright and leaning into Tony's space. "There's nothing wrong with exploring all the possibilities. Just because I think differently than you doesn't mean I'm sniffing around after someone else. But that's not what this is about, is it? Are you really that insecure?"

"Jesus, Steve, one damn blow job, and you think I care if you fuck as many showgirls as you want?" Even Tony had the grace to flinch at that one, but he couldn't stop his own mouth in time to keep from blurting it out.

"Tony." Steve was blushing now, casting a sidelong glance at Clint & Bruce, who kept their faces carefully neutral.

"Look, you can do what you want. You're an overgrown man. I don't care." Which, of course, meant that Tony did care and was pushing Steve away for god only knew what reasons. Fucked up psyche – that was the phrase Tony had used.

"For a genius, you are so stupid sometimes," Steve said, and he caught Tony's head with his hands, pulling him into a searing kiss, head tilting, mouth open, tongue fully involved. For a second, Tony hesitated, eyes wide in surprise, and then he was kissing Steve back, his hands lacing behind Steve's neck to bring him even closer.

Clint looked at Bruce, brows all the way up at the top of his forehead, eyes sparkling with mischief; pressing his lips closed, he said nothing despite all of the quips bubbling on the tip of his tongue.

"Shut up, Barton," Tony growled, not bothering to turn his way.

"Hey, I didn't say a word." Clint protested.

"Yeah. You smirk really loud."

…

_The private comm link buzzed; he knew who it was even before he answered it. Damn bastard couldn't wait five minutes before calling to gloat over the supposed failures of the operation. He should just let it go, refuse to pick up, but avoidance had never worked, and he was done with that, the running and hiding, pretending none of this existed, that he had a happy little family who loved him and wanted only the best for him._

"_Fisk." That was the only thing he ever called the man; other names had to be earned, and the son-of-a-bitch had burned those bridges long ago._

"_What clusterfuck kind of outfit are you running out there?" Wilson Fisk's voice was almost as big as his body, booming too loud over the secure channel, his fat face filling the screen, anger making his eyes into tiny black points. "I hear the others are on their way back to New York and fucking Captain America is staying there to investigate. What's wrong with you, boy? How hard is it to kill a fucking archer for god's sake? And Stark? I saw the pictures. He should never have made it out of that party alive. Any number of ways to nuke his ass while he was riding some showgirl. Can't you do anything right?"_

"_You never could see the end game, could you?" Calm and even, he didn't want to dignify the tirade with a response, but he knew Fisk would keep going until he was shut down. "The point wasn't to kill them, but to gather information. Hard to do that when they're dead."_

"_But those damn bug things didn't last long enough. Nothing about how to make super soldiers or more Hulks. And now they can make their own bugs!" Fisk's bald head began to turn red, blood pressure rising. "Seriously. We lost men out there. For nothing. For no fucking good reason."_

"_I repeat; the point of the exercise was to learn about their strengths and weaknesses. We know how to get to the human members of the team. The operation was invaluable for future infiltrations." Tapping his foot, he knew he was done here. Nothing he would do or say was going to change the course of this conversation. Fisk had already declared the last few days a failure and he was, in his mind at least, always right._

"_They'll have your head for this, you know, and I'm almost glad. Can't imagine how my genes gave birth to such a fuck-up for a son ... "_

_He cut the feed, wishing he had a phone to slam down in his father's ear, just for the perverse joy of it. Deep breath and he calmed himself before he placed the next call, the important one. Wilson Fisk didn't matter in this little game of chess. No, this was purely to prove competence, how he was destined for greater things._

"_It's done?" As usual, there was no video from the other end, just a computer manipulated voice, cold and mechanical._

"_As you directed. Stark, Rogers and Banner are infected. The test run with Barton went better than expected; reaction time was greatly accelerated, much more than projections indicated. This bodes well for when the nannites are rebooted; without help readily at hand, the outcome will be quick and effective," he reported._

"_And the new factor, Dr. Pym?" _

"_Ah, yes, quite interesting. I have already dispatched a watcher for the good doctor, although Stark has taken steps to integrate Pym into the Avenger fold. We should have access to his research soon."_

"_These Pym particles could be particularly useful. I expect a full report by tomorrow." There was no arguing with the statement. It would be done; failure to follow a direct order was not an option._

"_Captain Rogers is still here, but there is nothing for him to find that they don't already have." That wasn't completely unexpected; Rogers and Barton both had shown the ability to make logical leaps and rely more on intuition. That could be a problem in the future._

"_Good. Perhaps we ought to let Rogers find something to fuel his paranoia. I believe your father has connections there in town, does he not? We may need him to take the fall eventually." The voice gave a harsh laugh. "Any problem if the Avengers turn their attention to him?"_

"_None at all, sir," he said, not letting any of the joy he felt at the thought of his father's dead and mangled body show on his face. "I'll see about that immediately."_

"_Oh, and Richard," the voice said. "Do be sure and make Captain Rogers comfortable while he's there. I imagine he's mooning over Stark's absence already."_

"_Of course, sir," he said. "I live to serve H.Y.D.R.A."_

…..

"I'll make sure your things are moved into your new room, sir." Robert held out a keycard to Steve as he prepared to leave the suite. "As your new suite is also on the concierge level, I'll still be here if you need anything. A car is waiting downstairs; it's a rental you are welcome to use as long as you need. Please let me know if I can make dinner arrangements for you."

Steve stopped at the door, taking the room key from the butler. "Royal marines? What made you leave and become a butler of all things?" A complete background check was par for the course with Tony; he had to know everything about anyone who'd be in their room and in close proximity. The hotel had been glad to help with any information they required.

"Untimely accident. And, surprisingly, this job is sometimes just as demanding."

"Oh, that's not so surprising. You forget I know Tony Stark." Steve laughed as he left the room, heading out to catch up with Stilwell and the other SHIELD agents still at the sight of yesterday's battle.

Richard Fisk, son of the Kingpin, head of the Las Vegas branch of H.Y.D.R.A., watched the blonde get in the elevator; for the first time, he was making progress towards his goal – the destruction of his father's empire. And if he had to take out the Avengers to do it, well, he was more than willing to destroy them himself.

FOOTNOTE: so, when I started this story, it was going to be fluffy smutty fun and take place in 24 hours. I didn't make the 24 hour mark ... more like 42 ... but I did get lots of fluff and fun and smut in. And somewhere, in the last few chapters, I realized the plot had turned and that this was just the beginning of a whole series of stories. Things are starting to come together ... the Avengers are being assembled. Can it be long before the villains make their own alliances?


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